#actually it started with plato but i get your sentiment

[sylphidine]

[FIC] Call Signs, Chapter 12

Chapter title: Briefer Than They Think

No trigger warnings or content warnings for this chapter.

After hearing Spamton’s description of the annual “pre-Yule” party at the family home of high society people the Addisons had known all their lives, Swatch was dubious. “That’s really what you want to do as a first date?” they asked. “I mean, most people do dinner and a movie.”

They abruptly realized at the sight of Spamton’s grin that last night’s activities had been dinner and a movie.  

“All right, stop smirking, I take your point. But showing me off to friends of the family usually comes a lot later in the dating process.”

The small man had been pacing the floor as he’d given Swatch some background about the Black twins, who had attended the same schools as Spamton, and their parents; now he stood leaning against the wall. His rejoinder to Swatch’s protest was to say, “I thought you said - said you d-d-didn’t have a lot of experience with d-d-dating.”

Swatch looked haughty at that comment, and deliberately let their glasses slide lower on their nose so they could glare at him over the rims. “I don’t get out much, so I read.” They spoiled the effect of the quote by smiling a minute later.

Spamton nodded at the sentiment, although Swatch’s delivery had been terrible. “Seriously, though. You might not - not like me when you see me in what used to be my old - my old st-st-stomping grounds.”

“You mean that whole ‘if you can’t handle me at my worst you don’t deserve my best’ thing?”

“Roughly sp-sp-speaking, yes. M-m-make or break time, d-d-datewise.”

Swatch digested that for a few minutes. “Can I think about it and give you a definite answer tomorrow night? I’ve got to gear up to go back to campus on Monday, and I was planning to hit the books hard before Indo and Catto come back tomorrow.”

While most of Spamton was sure that Swatch didn’t intend their words to be a dismissal and a metaphorical slap in the face, the rest of Spamton definitely felt slapped and dismissed.

Hello awkward, my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again…

“Sure thing. I’ve got stuff - st-st-stuff to do, too. Soup to make, p-p-papers to write.” He was starting to move towards the kitchen when Swatch’s voice stopped him. “Spamton?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”  

“Speaking of writing, you gave me an idea.”

And the awkward feeling melted as though it had never been.

Later that night as they sat next to one another at the kitchen table, armed with two of Swatch's extra notebooks, a pair of four-color Bic pens, and a Luigi’s Special, the Burning Questions Project took shape.

Indigo and Catechu returned from Florida the next afternoon with their parents, who stayed for lunch. This was the first time Spamton had actually spent any time with the older Dyers, who were warm and friendly, but obviously tired after their travels.

He also didn’t miss the significant looks that were exchanged between Swatch and their aunt and uncle, seeming to portend some serious family discussion that his presence was hindering.

So as soon as he could without seeming rude, Spamton retreated back to his room, making the excuse that there were only three weeks of classes left before finals week.

________________________

“They can’t do that!  Let me see the damn thing.” Catechu held his hand out for the letter from Campus Housing that Swatch had just received.

The tables around them in Plato’s Cave were starting to empty out as the cousins finished their lunch. It was Tuesday afternoon, Swatch’s second day back to in-person classes, and they were emotionally as well as physically exhausted. They handed over the letter to Catto as ordered.

“ ‘Dear Mr. Paletta:’ - HA!  Can’t even get that right. ‘We have reviewed your situation regarding the injury you suffered on November 2, 2021 and its consequences as they affect your continued athletic performance at Inwood College. We regret to inform you that we must abide by the decision made by Coach Edward Bontempo to cancel the contract between you and the Athletic Department…’ - blah, blah blah. So in other words, Campus Housing wants you to pay out-of-pocket next semester, since they’re assuming you still have scholarship money left from the beginning of the year?’

“That’s about the size of it,” sighed Swatch.

“That is some grade-A prime BULLSHIT, is what that is.”

Personally, Swatch agreed with Catto, but as the elder cousin, it was up to them to take the adult view. They replied in as diplomatic a tone as they could muster, “Well, it’s not like I didn’t expect it. And they can’t touch my academic scholarship, that’s sealed as tight as a drum with my GPA.”

“True,” mourned Catechu, “but can they really make you move out? Can’t we claim you as a guest?”

“With Freddie ‘Freakout’ Philpott as our RA? For her, ‘R’ and ‘A’ are the first two letters on her ‘ratfink’ badge.”

The two packed up their trash and Catechu shuttled both their dirtied trays to the return window. He said, as Swatch caught up with him, “I think we should have a family war council, get T.M. in on this, brainstorm the fuck out of this thing. You want me to tell Pop that we’re all coming home this weekend?”

“Not yet. Let me look into some stuff here first, see if I can appeal. You’d better get going to practice.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“I’m always okay.” Swatch was proud of themself at being able to say that with a straight face, even though they knew Catto was not convinced.

The cousins went their separate ways, Catechu hiking up the ziggurat stairs to the gym, Swatch heading towards the parking lot to go back to Overlook Hall. The December wind made their eyes water and they muttered to themself, “Home? I have no home.”

____________________________

Kirov Rouvin was always pink in the face, even when standing still.  His prematurely thinning hair was such a pale red that it, too, could be called pink. When paired with his watery blue eyes, the overall effect was that he looked like a sidewalk chalk sketch half-washed out by rain. His “freshman fifteen” potbelly was made more obvious by his scrawny frame. But his smile was infectious and his laugh even more so, and he was well-liked by his floormates in Chrysostom Hall.

His grades had definitely improved with tutoring, Kirov thought as he headed toward his dorm for his weekly session. Professor Nagle was so kind to have found someone as smart and as handsome as Stanton to help him with English. Speaking the language was not as hard, but even after a few years of study, writing in English still did not come naturally to Kirov. It was his fourth language, after all. Sometimes he and Stanton spoke French or Italian together, since they had those in common as second and third languages.

“Spamton” was such an ugly name for such a beautiful man, so Kirov always called his tutor “Stanton” in his own mind, after looking him up on the Internet. Stanton was seated waiting in the dorm lobby, right on time as he always was, the glow from the overhead chandelier highlighting the silver glints in his dark hair, the red of his zippered sweatshirt warming the paleness of his face. If Kirov could have his way, he could have sat for hours and looked at Stanton’s cheekbones, the deep lines bracketing his lips, his clever hands, without ever asking for more out of life.

In the hill town where Kirov had grown up, such thoughts if discovered would have gotten him arrested at best and murdered at worst. Even here in America, he was not always certain that he should speak what was in his heart. So he put on a brave and merry face, and did his best in his lessons to earn his tutor’s praise, and dreaded the end of their Wednesday nights together.

___________________________________

On Thursday night, Spamton skimmed four pages of his Lit textbook without absorbing a single word. Finally he slammed the cover shut and put his head down on its cold surface, groaning to himself. He couldn’t put off contacting Ballew any longer.  He dug out his old flip phone and texted his older brother, using the private number that none of his other siblings knew about.

It was almost half an hour later that Ballew called back on Spamton’s more modern smartphone.

“Everything all right? I know you said it wasn’t an emergency, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from you before I picked you up for the weekend.”

“Things are - they’re good. I just had a change -a change of p-plans and thought you should know.”

“You’re still going to the party, aren’t you? Seriously, Spamton, you can’t cancel now. The Blacks won’t take a cancellation this late without kicking up a fuss and taking it out on Eos—”

“I’m not canceling, I’m just planning - p-planning to bring a p-p-plus one. Everyone else does.”

Spamton could practically hear Ballew’s eyebrows raise when his older brother purred, “OH?” in a smug tone.

“Yes, and they - they can d-drive me there and back. I’ve got too - too m-much work to do this weekend, so I c-can’t come home this time.”

Ballew made a humming noise, and then was quiet for a few seconds before saying, “That actually sounds like one of the healthiest steps you’ve taken in the past year, youngster. I can’t wait to meet your date.”

“It’s not a d-d-date! It’s m-m-my roommate.”

Again that smug “OH?” came through the phone speaker. Spamton retorted, “SHUT UP!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll back off. Everything else good?”

“I c-c-can’t really complain.” Compared to Swatch’s current situation, nothing in Spamton’s life right now merited being called “bad”.

“All right then. I’ll see you at the Blacks on Saturday, then. And I’ll head off the rest of the family from bugging you. You’ve got finals coming up, that’s a realistic excuse.”

“That excuse happens to b-be the truth!”

Ballew laughed fondly. “I know. Talk to you soon.”

“See you.”

Spamton swiped the “end call” sign on his screen, and then pulled out a thin notebook from under the pile of textbooks. Despite how calmly his brother seemed to be reacting, Spamton knew he’d be under more scrutiny this weekend from outsiders than he’d been in years. He deserved a little bit of reprieve from anticipating that anxiety, and Swatch could certainly use some distraction after the bad news from earlier in the week.

So it was time to put away his term paper on Arthur Miller, since exploring the theme of “Tragedy And The Common Man” as it pertained to DEATH OF A SALESMAN was hitting a little too close to home, and see whether he could add some more entries and answers in the “Burning Questions'' journals.

Spamton had answered three questions of Swatch’s so far, two serious, one frivolous.  

Do you miss your parents?

Why Spamton?

Beach or mountains?

The next one stared up at him.

What’s your real hair color?

“That’s a darn good question,” he muttered to himself.

Natural mouse?

Loser gold?

Institutional straw?

Spamton's hair had been each of those colors at one point or another in his life.

He wasn’t sure whether his growing-out mane was all gray under what remained of his last black dye job at the beginning of the semester, or whether he still had some light brown left.  It had been that long since he'd really seen himself without artifice.

Which reminded him.  He got up from his desk, rummaged through his closet and pulled out a garment bag containing his black swallowtail coat, lined with satin in rose and lemon, and the matching suit pants.

Ballew had advised Spamton to think of the party at the Blacks as theater, and you couldn’t get much more theatrical than that suit, especially when paired with a bow tie in Cungadero red.

And it would be the pièce de résistance to top off the outfit with the matching pink-and-yellow sunglasses.

To reclaim something ELSE of Mike’s and make it his own, once again.

[jostepherjoestar]

Can I request giorno meeting his shy half-sister (both of them are related cause DIO) and the two of bond over books.

📚Giorno and his half-sister bonding over books📚

sfw // no pronouns used but implied fem! reader

Thank you so much for requesting this! Sorry if reader turned out a bit more confident, I feel like they’d ease up once Giorno started joking around a bit. Also thank you for being patient 🥺cozy loves yall so much💖✨

“Thank you for taking up the offer; I wasn’t really sure you’d accept…” It felt a bit sheepish, standing there wriggling in your shoes, palms clammy with nervous sweat. Not quite the image you had hoped to convey to your newly found brother at your first meeting.

Well, half brother, actually. You had never even known him to exist, let alone be the head of a criminal organisation that seemed a little less devious than they’d like their reputation to let on. Perhaps it was his influence as their fresh new leader, working towards change, shaping the old crusted traditions into a cornucopia of advancements.

“No need to worry about that. I was surprised myself, I thought I’d never hear from Koichi again.” Giorno chuckled, it sounded so warm, so genuine. It eased up your tense shoulders, letting them fall back down and made you finally release that breath you’d been holding.

“Oh did something happen? He seemed very excited to contact you after he found me.” You admitted, remembering how Koichi’s face lit up when you suggested going to Italy. What a strange boy. You would have never met him, not even crossed paths once, if it weren’t for the research the Speed Wagon Foundation had been conducting.

They’d found out about your mother, the poor woman already passed on, too troubled to recount how she’d met your biological father, fear still striking her feeble heart every time your eyes met hers, a harsh reminder of her encounter with Dio. After some curt phone calls with a polite but coldly professional man named Dr. Kujoh you had learned a little about your father. The few details they provided about him already made your stomach curl in disgust.

That dark lit photograph of him had been etched into your very being but seeing Giorno, his blonde hair so remarkably resembling that of your shared father, seemed to have changed that twisted image. “Hah, I’ll tell you some other time. Come, sit down! I’ll have someone bring us some drinks.” The kindness and passion in his eyes could sway any being.

Giorno’s steel cut resolve soaked into his very core and his surroundings, his office meticulously decorated with tasteful furniture, a cohesive but still inviting nook. It reflected the impression you had of him, welcoming and polite but sure to be careful of his ruthless edge. Perhaps it was a skill you had both inherited from your father, observant eyes that saw everything, even beyond the physical bounds, the very core of others.

As you sat and waited for his colleague to return with drinks you engaged in some small talk, not really sure what the other liked just yet to divulge in further. The air seemed to have thinned, a calmer energy now flowing, a natural one as Giorno’s intent blue stare clung to every little thing you said. A certain proudness in his demeanour when you told him about how good you’d been doing in university and the friends you’d found along the way. His heart could burst at how beautifully mundane your life has been, glad to know you weren’t involved in any risky business that he knew of.

Your eyes landed on the scenery behind him when the conversation reached a lull, a tall bookcase filled to the brim with books reaching all the way to the ceiling, the light wood decorated with beautiful plant like reliefs. Curiously you scanned the spines of the carefully sorted books: Nietzsche, Plato, Descartes, Sartre and even Susan Sontag made her way on the shelves. The wide array varying between philosophy, classic literature, art, mythology and on the bottom row- having to lean forward a little to properly see- revealing a small fiction section.

You quirked an eyebrow at your childhood favourite. “You’ve read The Chronicles of Narnia?!” Your sudden outburst of wonderment infected Giorno, a soft smile gracing his features as he remembered reading them, he wasn’t only a wannabe gangster in his early teens, he loved to read as well.

“Yes I did-” Pausing as he turned to the shelves, fondly giving them a once over before returning his bright eyes to you. “There’s more fiction books, but I try and display the literature more. Can’t have my guests knowing I love Roald Dahl and C.S. Lewis just yet! I have an image to uphold.” He jested, but there was a truth behind his words, knowing he can’t let many others get to know the real Giorno, lest they use it against him. Your smile only grew bigger, chuckling at his banter. For a moment there it felt like you’d known each other far longer, that invisible connection tethering your hearts together.

“I love those books. It kinda feels like home, you know?” You added, smiling down at your hands, the warm ache of nostalgia tugging at your heart. “It does, doesn’t it. A better one perhaps.” Giorno answered in a compassionate tone, knowing just how difficult it must have been to grow up, without even knowing too many details of each others’ upbringings.

Feeling the mood dampen a little but glad your brother shared the sentiment, wracking your mind for a new lighter topic to discuss. Remembering the latest book you’d read for a university class snapped your head up again.

“You’ve read a lot of philosophy-“ You pointed at the multiple rows of authors and great thinkers. “They’re very interesting and all but, have you heard of my recent favourite; Diogenes?” You barely contained your laughter at the strange anecdotes you’d read about the cynic philosopher. Giorno raised a brow, curious to see where this little giggle fit was going. “That guy? Oh yes I have.”

“Did you know he pissed on people that insulted him? What an absolute genius!” You raised your voice and fell into laughter, the joyous sounds escaping Giorno as well, for a moment forgetting all that troubled his mind. “Maybe I should give that tactic a try at meetings.” He pondered, somehow the change in his expression made you believe that he was serious for a second.

“Man is the most intelligent of the animals - and the most silly.” Giorno quoted, the laughter slowly subsiding and that warm feeling of acceptance taking over. You were only looking to getting to know your brother more, gladly offering him a taste of normality in his turbulent life which he greatly appreciated. “Most definitely!” You beamed, feeling relieved at his wit and growing familiarity.

The afternoon flew by, chatting more about the wide array of books, sharing little tidbits and funny stories. Both still not divulging too much about the past or your parents, it would only sour the mood. At the rate you two got along, this definitely wouldn’t be the only meeting you’d have together.

The future looked a little brighter, an airy feeling of solace settling into Don Giovanna’s office, an atmosphere he won’t forget you brought in.  

[risingmoonyue]

The “Conan is Shinichi” Issue

So, a lot of people are frustrated that no one seems to be able to figure out that Conan is Shinichi.

Personally, I’ve never really had a problem with this. I’ve always found it to be perfectly logical that’s no one figures it out.

Here’s the thing: it’s completely realistic that no one realizes.

Even if he tends to act like “Shinichi”, looks like him, and is (almost) never in the same room as Shinichi, it’s still reasonable that no one puts the pieces together.

Y’see, the thing is, if you hadn’t seen your friend in a while (one that has a more or less excuse to be away long periods of time), and suddenly a tiny child shows up and acts a lot like him, your first thought isn’t going to be crap my friend shrunk on me. That won’t even be your second, fifth, or twentieth thought unless you’re joking around or highly superstitious. Realistically, your first thought is going to be along the lines of this is a really freaky coincidence. The reason most people will brush off the thought of shrunk is that shrinking is, in the minds of those people, impossible.

“But Yue, shrinking very clearly isn’t impossible in the DCMK universe! And there are people who have figured it out there! What about them?!”

To answer those questions in order—most people believe it is, and those have all (at least peripherally) been given reasons for their belief,

In that universe, shrinking isn’t exactly common, even if it seems like it’s a really, really obvious condition considering we’re reading/watching from the perspective of Shinichi. In that universe, Shinichi and the readers have fully acknowledged and comprehended for the most part that shrinking is a truth, a possibility, a reality. Now, every time we watch another person not get it, we’re watching as people who have been in the know from the very beginning. In other words, we are being affected by a kind of hindsight bias.

Hindsight bias is a term in psychology that refers to the tendency for people to overestimate their own abilities and to perceive events in the past as more predictable than they actually were—also known as the “I-knew-it-all-along” syndrome. The reason I bring this up is because we are all seriously overestimating the uninformed mind. While many people are open to beliefs, to them seeing is believing. People thought the earth was flat because they cannot see the earth’s curve—it is so large that everything in our field of view appears flat. People thought the sun rotated around the earth because it rose in the east and set in the west, while we seemingly didn’t move at all. Things like that happen all the time. While it seems obvious to us, the readers/watchers who have all the information, it is not nearly so obvious to outsiders, who really only see a really smart, kinda creepy seven year old who gives emotional whiplash and watches too much TV.

Plato’s allegory of the cave can also be applied here: without the knowledge of the “outside,” it becomes impossible to imagine a world beyond your “cave.”

Basically, they’ve never seen a real shrunken person; science hasn’t figured it out yet; people grow taller and wider and only shrink a few inches in old age; never happened in recorded history; therefore shrinking ten years is impossible. Which, let's be real, in the real world it is.

Moving on to the people “in the know” (or almost in the know), they have all been given reasons, if peripherally, for believing so.

(If you don’t know how these people know, I’m bolding all the names as they pop up so you can skip them as wanted.)

In Ran and Hattori’s case, they both are shown to be open-minded to the unexplainable. Ran is outright afraid of the supernatural, and Hattori keeps his omamori and listens to his vaguely prophetic dreams (chapters 185-188/episode 118). While the omamori can be argued as sentiment and not wanting to anger Kazuha, he also gives said omamori to Conan when they have to separate, saving his life later when the chain inside catches on the knife stabbed at Conan like he dreamed. In both cases, they are both willing to see what might be there instead of completely waving it off as “false” (even if it takes a few times).

For Ran, she actually has figured it out on several occasions (even attributing the shrinkage to Agasa once), but was provided a logical, easy to see explanation for why Conan looks and acts like Shinichi, even if it seems a little too good to be true—they are related, however distantly, and Conan admires Shinichi.

People develop through both Nature and Nurture—in other words, both via genes and their environment. Genes are endlessly complicated, sometimes coming into effect generations down the line, and kids can pick up almost anything from their surroundings. Heck, some genes are affected by the environment they’re placed in. Some of the most obvious ones are behavioral—take alcoholism for example. If alcoholism runs in the family, putting yourself or a child in an environment where you/they will be able to decide not to can in turn make it so that gene never comes into play. (Think just abstaining from alcohol altogether as you grow to be of drinking age.)

So we take into consideration that they may have gotten really lucky in the gene pool (there have been instances of doppelgängers not being related for over nine generations), and that in their story Shinichi was around Conan enough for him to start admiring him and learning things from him, and suddenly we have a reasonable explanation of why Ran would accept that explanation. Heck, Shinichi already has a double in Kaito, why not one more (admittedly fake) clone?

For Hattori, he was never really given that explanation as far as I know, only that Conan was a kid that was staying with the Mouri family while Shinichi was gone. Now, take in his open mindedness, his detective skills, and his first-hand experience of how “Sleeping Kogoro” happens, and we know how he puts two and two together. He is even willing to run his theory by Ran, forcing Conan to confirm it to stop Hattori from blowing his cover. Basically, he adhered to the basic scientific process—form a question, make a hypothesis, test it.

For Agasa, he actually didn’t believe at first. Shinichi had to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he was Shinichi, saying things no one else would know and putting on a characteristic deduction show while blatantly showing off some of his “Shinichi” habits (peace sign, facial expressions, freaky deduction of exactly what Agasa did that afternoon, calling Agasa “Watson”). Agasa has also known Shinichi his whole life, and is a “mad scientist” archetype. He makes it his job to make weird, wacky things.

For Haibara, she made the APTX. In the First Episode Movie, we see in her experiments that one of the mice shrinks. She knows this is possible, and is even experiencing the effects herself. She doesn't need anything else to prove it because she already knows it is a truth. With this knowledge, it’s really easy to put it together. She even checked the Kudo household and found the box of Shinichi’s childhood clothes empty, and later ended up with Agasa, who obviously knows everything.

For Kaito KID in the Movie Verse (as that is, as far as I know, the only confirmed verse where he actually knows), he overheard Agasa calling Conan “Shinichi” over the phone. In Magic Kaito, we see that Kaito actually has a witch as a classmate, who has continuously tried to use magic on him. He knows this exists, so he is already much, much more open to impossibilities. He knows more than a lot of other people just how smart Conan is, and also knows that any time he disguises as “Shinichi”, Conan immediately figures him out.

Really, there are even more people who know who “Conan” is, but I think we get the picture. People have reasons for believing that Conan is Shinichi, and while they are not explicitly stated in canon, they are there.

So yeah, that’s my blurb on the whole Conan/Shinichi issue, thank you for coming to my TED Talk. What are your guys’ thoughts?

[lifeaftermeteor]

Private Island [location redacted] Fiji, South Pacific 18 August 211 

Relena stood before the mirror as her mother secured the string of pearls around her neck. 

As Mareen stepped away with an appreciative hum, Relena took a moment to study her reflection. Her honey blond hair had been twisted into soft curls and then pinned up to prevent the sea breeze catching them. Her dress was short and only came to her knees, layered with tulle and lace. Her shoes were simple but stylish, fitting for their private event and a day at the beach. She smiled and turned to face her entourage, placing her hands on her hips and striking a pose. “What do you think?” 

Amidst the unanimous approval, there was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” Relena answered, smoothing her hands down the dress.   

At the entreaty, Heero stepped into the room but stopped short, eyes wide at the sight of her. “Wow,” he managed, but didn’t move from where he stood. 

“Come in, Heero,” Mareen told him, and Heero—seemingly embarrassed, judging by the pinched look on his face—quickly shut the door as instructed. 

He took a few hesitant steps forward and opened his mouth to say something...but nothing came and so he snapped it shut once more. Relena watched the muscles in his jaw twitch a moment longer before she closed the distance that separated them. Only then did she register the glass bottle clutched in one of his hands. She smiled at it and took his free hand in hers.  

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice soft, almost reverent.  

Relena bit her lip and smiled as she felt her cheeks start to burn. “Thank you,” she said and gave his hand a squeeze.  

They studied each other for a time, both of them wound up with emotions they couldn’t name. But then Heero took a shuddering breath and seemed to gather his composure once more. “For you,” he said, passing her the bottle. 

Relena took it with a soft laugh and opened it, unfurling the message. 

---

Ich liebe dich

W

---

She read the words [1] and felt herself tearing up. Sniffling, she crossed to a nearby chair and sat down, taking several deep breaths amidst the concerned queries from her friends and family around her. They were getting married. He loved her. He loved her and they were getting married...today.  Relena looked up to find Heero’s blue eyes looking a bit tearful as well. “I love him,” she told him, “so much.” 

Heero replied, “I know. So does he.” 

Relena nodded and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm herself while the others waited quietly. She was thankful for it. She didn’t think she would be able to keep herself together if they had swarmed her with their love and assurances. Taking a deep breath, she dabbed carefully at her eyes and twisted open the pen. “Sally, Heero.  I’m going to need help with the reply.” 

***** 

Wufei glanced up as the door to their de facto dressing room opened and Heero entered, shutting it behind him and holding the glass bottle aloft. “You were gone longer than I thought you’d be. Sorry about that.” 

“No, that was on me,” Heero said, shaking his head. “Mostly.” 

“‘Mostly?’” Wufei asked, an eyebrow quirking at his runner as he approached. 

Heero gave him a secretive smile as he passed Wufei the bottle. “You’ll see soon enough.”  

Wufei watched him with wary eyes as Heero turned away and walked across the room. He took a seat near Trowa who was going over the final technical checks of his camera while Quatre hovered at his shoulder watching the process unfold. 

Left to his own devices for a time, Wufei uncorked the bottle and unspooled the note. Relena had responded to his earlier sentiment in kind. [2]

---

我爱你

R

---

They were the tentative strokes of a novice and yet Wufei couldn’t tear his eyes away, warmth spreading through his chest and into his cheeks.  She loves me, he thought, overcome. 

From behind, thin arms wrapped around his waist and a pointed chin rested on his shoulder. Wufei’s grin widened.  “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Duo echoed, clearly reading the note too.   

“She writes like you,” Wufei teased, trying to stave off the tears that pricked at the back of his eyes. 

Duo snorted.  “No awards for penmanship,” he said, giving Wufei a squeeze before withdrawing. 

***** 

The group had assembled on the first floor balcony, which overlooked the plantation gardens below. Chairs had been brought outside from the house and adorned with flowers from the landscape that surrounded them, lined up in short rows to form a makeshift aisle that led to the porch railing. The wedding party had all foregone color-coded attire, but Wufei’s entourage had dressed sharply in vests and slacks all the same.  

At the end of the short aisle that connected the house to the bannister, Wufei fidgeted and Duo smirked from where he stood beside him. The moment before the moment of truth was always infinitely more painful. And Wufei was never really one for patience. 

Duo let his eyes wander to the other guests while seconds ticked by. Trowa flitted about, snapping photos while Quatre had tucked himself in securely at Heero’s side. Hilde meanwhile was chatting amicably with Sally and Une. Mareen and Noin were presumably just inside with the bride. He smiled again and tightened his grip on the materials in his arms as a stray breeze swept across the balcony. 

As it died down once more, the double doors that led back into the house opened and Relena stepped outside into the warm afternoon sun. Dress soft and delicate, smile wide, she was a sight to see. To his left, Wufei expelled a shuddering breath and Duo chanced a glance his way. The man was starstruck, cheeks flushed and eyes tearful and Relena approached down the aisle, a small bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands.  She had eyes only for her fiance. Duo grinned.  “Hold it together,” he hissed at Wufei, whose only visible reaction was to snap his mouth shut.  

A small eternity swept up the aisle with Relena as she walked, and yet time seemed to rush up to them like a tidal surge. What had been ‘future’ was suddenly ‘now’ and as Wufei took Relena’s hand in his, bringing her up beside him, Duo swallowed down the familiar taste of panic.  

Instead, he grinned through it and snuffed it out before it could take him.  He smiled wide and welcoming as the two lovebirds struggled to remember that there was in fact a ceremony to be had. Duo took that as his cue to begin.  “I don’t think I have to tell anyone why we’re here today, so we’ll skip that part of this morning’s daily briefing if that’s alright with you.”  The comment earned knowing chuckles from the guests and good natured eye rolls from the couple before him. 

“I will say, however, that out of everyone here to share today with you, I’m the lucky one who actually gets to marry you. That’s a high honor coming from you both—one I didn’t anticipate—so thank you, for your trust.  

“Thank you also for adding a new qualification to my resume, since I did have to get certified for this in order for it to be legal under ESUN law, after all. I took this task very seriously. I even studied! I studied harder for this than I think I ever have before,” he said and finally righted the materials he had till now clutched to his chest, revealing a stack of books. They were dog-eared with colored page markers sticking out in every conceivable direction, and included a menagerie of materials. Half a dozen religious texts intermingled with the likes of Sun Tzu, Karl Marx, and Plato.  

Incredulous laughter at the collection burst first between the couple and then outward across the guests to others. As their mirth simmered down once more, Duo said in all seriousness, “But when have any of us ever played by the book?”  In the expectant silence that followed his question, he looked first at Relena, then at Wufei….and after a beat, chucked the books over his shoulder and the balcony railing behind him to fall with much commotion into the underbrush below. 

Dusting his hands off, he settled his gaze once again at the couple before him. “So here’s the real deal…” 

***** 

“That was an excellent speech. I thought for sure Wufei would cry before he even got to his vows,” Sally said, sipping champagne as she watched the newlyweds slow dance on the stone patio in the garden, lost in their own world. 

“It was an excellent speech,” Mareen agreed. She turned to Heero then and gently probed. “Relena tells me you’re a writer.  So...be honest.  How much of the ceremony was Duo and how much did you help with?” 

Heero shook his head. “That was all Duo.”  He took a sip of his own drink and added, “He wrote four different versions. Ended up delivering a fifth.” He squinted into the empty space before him, thinking. “I’m beginning to wonder why his creative process requires such levels of improvisation.” 

Trowa chuckled where he loitered nearby. “Don’t know what you need till you get there,” he answered, hefting his camera and aiming it in their direction. “Smile you three. But not in a fake way,” he instructed, snapping the shutter closed a second later. 

***** 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” Quatre said as he took a seat on one of the garden benches next to Duo.  

Duo huffed a dry laugh. “I could say the same about you,” he said, throwing back the rest of the contents of his glass before leveling Quatre with a face that spoke to his concern. “You looked a little peaked earlier. You alright?” 

Quatre nodded with a sigh. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…” He waved his hand before him, non-committal and aimless. 

Duo watched the gesture for a bit before suggesting, “The miasma?”  

When Quatre looked his way again, he found Duo biting his lip between his teeth in a poor attempt not to laugh.  Quatre smirked. “Yes, let’s go with that.”  This did earn him a laugh from Duo and he felt the man’s tension subside somewhat. Quatre smiled. 

***** 

Noin stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and sighed, her cheeks puffing out as she did so. She had fled back into the house when she felt the tears coming and was thankful for the reprieve. And angry that she had cried at all. The one saving grace was that the light outside had finally faded with sunset and was now too dim for any of the guests to notice. 

She would not let them know. This was their day and she wouldn’t allow herself to be the source of bitterness, especially not when there was nothing any of them could do.  

Noin sighed again, her red eyes staring back at her through the mirror. She wouldn’t let them know how much it hurt...to not have a happily ever after of her own. 

***** 

Merriment made the hours bleed lazily into the evening, the wedding party surrounded by laughter and music. Food and drink and good company. But after a time the furtive glances Relena had shared with her husband were no longer scratching the growing itch.  Taking his hand in hers, she passed a look to her mother—who only smirked in acknowledgement—and fled their reception for a more...personal celebration. 

She pointedly ignored the cat calls that followed at their heels and whisked her husband off to their bedroom. 

[1] Ich liebe dich, “I love you” in German. In LAM!verse, Sanq speaks a German dialect.

[2] 我爱你 (wǒ ài nǐ), “I love you” in Mandarin

[sunyoonandstars]

Linked || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 11

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series

Previous Part | Next Part

LINKED MASTERLIST

Pairing You x !Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

‘siblings’, ranked by age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home)

angst, fluff

Word count 1.893

Suga's eyes dart in your direction to find your face, his expression suddenly more serious. Quickly, you let down your hair to hide from his searching glance.  

„Are you okay, y/n?“

„No“, you smile, barely even shaking your head as you stick it out the window, letting the cold night breeze dry the tears staining your burning cheeks. „But that’s all right.“

Suga remains quiet. And you’re grateful he does. Because this moment needs no words.

Why, just why?, you wonder. Why do I feel like crying? What is it about him, about this moment, that makes my heart ache? Where does it come from, this infinite sadness? This hole in my chest?  

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop. Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate …

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Soulmates.

You had always dreaded the day on which the birthmark on your left wrist would suddenly start itching, whereas for most people the moment their one and only destined soulmate’s name was supposed to reveal itself, burning under their skin, couldn’t seem to come soon enough.

Foolish romantics.

Because once both sides acknowledge their destined soulmate, a connection forms which can never be undone. Not even by death.

Who in their right mind would voluntarily bind their soul to that of another for life? To share their every joy and hurt and be faithful until they take their very last breath without even having a choice? To suffer indescribable agony once the other one exits this life and be left in utter loneliness, so bottomlessly deep nothing will ever be able to fill it again, causing you physical pain and insanity?  

That’s right. Not you. Especially, because your heart already belongs to someone else … Does it though?

You barely speak throughout the whole drive home.  

More than three hours the two of you had spent in the emergency room. By now it’s already long past two in the morning. And all the while Suga had patiently sat by your side without complaining, as if he had nothing better to do than spend his night in a waiting room next to a perfect stranger. At one point he dozed off and you caught yourself watching him sleep, his head fallen back, lips slightly parted, brows furrowed to a serious frown. And you had smiled at the sight. Until you remembered. That you couldn’t afford this kind of sentiment towards a strange man. Because the one who loved you was waiting at home. 

All the while, your phone kept buzzing in the pocket of your coat. Even now it does, as Suga’s car smoothly moves down an almost empty main street.  

„Don’t you want to answer that?“, he asks.

„No“, you reply without a trace of hesitation. 

„Why not?“

„I don’t know.“

And you speak the truth. 

Jimin could be worried out of his mind, waiting for you who is usually home by now on weeknights. Still, somehow, you don’t want it to be over just yet. This peculiar night spent in the company of a curious stranger. You’re not ready to face reality again. Part of you wants this drive to last forever. Just you and Suga and his broken up Kia. 

„Could you put on some music?“, you ask as the vehicle comes to a halt at a red light. 

„Sure. Gladly. Any preferences?“ 

„Actually, there’s this tune stuck in my head. May I?“

„Sure. Go ahead“, Suga shrugs as you go on to pluck your phone into his car’s surprisingly up-to-date sound system.

„Audiophile?“, you raise a brow at him, your question leading his rosy lips to curve into a pleased grin whereas his eyes stay on the road. 

„Of course. Musician, remember? It’s my life.“

„Music?“

„Yeah.“

You slowly nod to yourself, watching Suga’s beautiful, dark eyes gleam at the mere mention of his one and only passion. 

„May I turn up the volume?“

„You even have to ask?“, he chuckles. 

„And can I be totally cliché and let down the window. Maybe just a little? I could really use some fresh air right now.“  

„Of course.“

Suga's eyes dart in your direction to find your face, his expression suddenly more serious. Quickly, you let down your hair to hide from his searching glance.  

„Are you okay, y/n?“

„No“, you smile, barely even shaking your head as you stick it out the window, letting the cold night breeze dry the tears staining your burning cheeks. „But that’s all right.“ 

Suga remains quiet. And you’re grateful he does. Because this moment needs no words. 

Why, just why?, you wonder as the night passes by. 

Why do I feel like crying? What is it about him, about this moment, that makes my heart ache? Where does it come from, this infinite sadness? This hole in my chest?  

During the rest of the drive, you were so nervous, you kept fiddling with your bandages. So now, as you make your way up the stairs to your apartment, Suga - who insisted to accompany you because you had felt lightheaded when you stepped out of the car - never leaving your side, it suddenly comes undone. 

„Shit!“, you curse under your breath as you try to catch the bandage which is rapidly uncoiling at this point. 

„Wait. Let me help you with that!“, Suga exclaims, jumping up the last three steps at once to come to a stop next to you right outside your apartment. 

„Come here. I’ll fix it.“ 

With these words, he carefully takes your left hand into his and begins to calmly, skillfully, redo your wounds’ dressing. You can’t help but stare at his face while he does. Your eyes are drawn to Suga’s lower lip which he is subconsciously gnawing at, entirely focused on the task before him, his eyes narrowed to dark slits, a frown wrinkling his pale forehead hidden behind strands of mint-colored hair. 

„There you —“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, the door suddenly being thrown open cutting him short. 

You freeze under Suga’s touch, your eyes wide, a voiceless gasp leaving your mouth. 

„Jimin.“

So that’s him, Yoongi thinks to himself, bluntly gaping at the stunningly handsome young man having appeared in the doorway. The ominous Jimin. 

He gets now why you’re so faithful to that precious boyfriend of yours. He’s definitely a worthy rival. And far more good-looking than himself, Yoongi has to admit. Rarely ever did he come across a man this beautiful in real life. Sure, he has seen them on TV before, in music videos and larger than life plastered onto giant billboards. But never had he met one in person. Until now. 

Yoongi can’t help but picture Jimin’s exceptionally luscious lips kissing you. An image that leads his heart to twist and a burning knot to build up in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy. It must be. 

„Y/n!?“, Jimin now calls out your name, his brows furrowed, full lips parted, brows drawn together, his facial expression showing a mixture of what must be fear, relief, and anger.

„Why didn’t you pick up any of my calls? Are you all right?“ 

Yoongi can witness Jimin’s eyes darken as they fall on your hand still held by his. 

„Who are you? And what are you doing here? With her?“

He takes a step outside, into the hallway and towards the two of you, before he goes on to swiftly remove your bandaged hand from Yoongi’s grasp, his watchful gaze never once leaving the stranger. Suddenly, rage seems to take over his entire being. Yoongi can’t hold back an amused smirk as he watches his opposite change, Jimin’s teeth grit, his hooded eyes glow furiously and his hands clench into fists. 

„What are you grinning at?“

Yoongi simply shrugs, not moving an inch, not even as Jimin steps closer yet, his posture becoming visibly aggressive. 

„Jiminie, stop it! This isn’t you. Let’s get inside“, you try to interfere, stepping in-between both men, darting an apologetic glance over your shoulder at Yoongi. 

It’s all right, don’t worry, he tries to tell you through his look only, afraid to aggregate the other man unnecessarily further if he dared to speak up. The two of you only break eye contact when Jimin makes himself heard again, demanding your attention. 

„Who is he, y/n? Do you know that man?“

„He’s a —“ You pause to look back at Yoongi once more, your eyes asking questions he can’t answer. Not here. Not now. Not like this. 

„A friend. He’s a friend“, you finally finish your sentence, your explanation earning you a scornful scoff from Jimin. 

„Oh, really? What’s his name then? It’s Suga, right?“

Both you and y/n can simply stare at him in bewilderment. 

„What —?“, you gasp. „How?“

„Namjoon did what you apparently couldn’t“, Jimin spits out the words as if they were bitter poison, his pretty mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. „He texted me, saying you were at the hospital. And that he —“ He nods his chin at Yoongi. „— took you. Friends, are you? Namjoon said you looked pretty close and comfortable.“

„Yeah, well, maybe we were“, Yoongi can’t help but respond to Jimin’s insinuation. 

„What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think this is funny?“

The other man’s nostrils flare by now and his glare would surely mean Yoongi’s death if looks could kill. 

„Stop it! Both of you!“, you miserably fail at easing the tension that has been building up ever since Jimin discovered the two of you side by side. 

„Why? Are you concerned for him?“, Jimin asks, one brow raised suggestively. „Is that it, y/n? Are you afraid I could hurt him?“

„Well, knowing how you can get when you’re angry, yes, slightly, to be honest.“ 

„He can try“, Yoongi taunts him, Jimin’s eyes, if possible, darkening even further at his teasing. „But, don’t worry, y/n, I’ll beat his ass if he does.“

„No one’s beating anyone here tonight!“, you now shout, your panicked voice echoing throughout the corridor, your gaze out of rounded eyes shifting from one man to the other, torn. You’re equally afraid for both of them, judging by your expression. A realization that fills  Yoongi with a sense of twisted satisfaction. 

„There it is! That grin again!“, Jimin points out, struggling to break free from your embrace, panting. 

„What the hell is your problem?“, Yoongi wonders aloud, knowing full well what kind of reaction is to be expected. And Jimin doesn’t disappoint. 

„What my problem is?“, he retorts, his voice more a deep growl than resembling any human sound. 

„You’re my problem!“, he adds, finally freeing himself from your arms to lunge at Yoongi, pushing him straight into the wall. 

The pain is immediate. A cough gets stuck in the deep of Yoongi’s throat as the air is being pressed from his lungs. 

„What the hell!“, he can hear you call out in shock, his sight of you, however, being denied by Jimin’s shoulders, the other man leaning in so close to Yoongi now that he can smell his subtle cologne. 

„I know who you are. So stay away from her“, he hisses, before he lets go of Yoongi with one last fiery glare and turns around to face you. 

„I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what got into me. I was just so worried.“ 

„What just happened“, you look over at Yoongi who’s still standing with his back against the wall before you continue. „Not cool, Park Jimin. Not cool at all.“

„I know, baby“, he pouts, his tone whiny. Yoongi can’t help but cringe. „But I just love you so much. I lost it. You know how I get when I’m jealous.“

„I know“, you sigh, avoiding Yoongi’s glance. He can’t tell if it’s a good sign or a bad one. „But there’s really no reason for you to be jealous.“

Ouch. 

Your words hit Yoongi like a punch to the gut. 

„None at all?“, Jimin inquires, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your soft hair. 

„None at all“, you assure him. 

In horror, Yoongi watches your gaze soften and your lips curve into a smile when Jimin gets on his tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on your head. 

„Come on, let’s go inside, Jiminie“, you whisper into the crook of his neck, just loud enough so Yoongi can hear. 

„All right“, Jimin softly hums before brushing your temple with his obnoxiously plump lips and takes your uninjured hand into his.

Yoongi can feel his heart convulse, its beating becoming erratic, his throat tightening at the view of your fingers readily intertwining themselves with those of Jimin. Not his, but those of another man. Another man who is allowed to stay by your side. Who is going to make sure you go to sleep feeling safe and cared for. Another man who is going to kiss you good night. Another man who can feel you close to him. 

You’re not his. 

Not yet, anyway, Yoongi reminds himself as he pulls his black hood deep into his face and hurries down the stairs and out into the night without looking back, the last sorrowful glance you send his way going unnoticed.

„Fuck!“, Yoongi’s voice resounds across the deserted parking lot outside your apartment building. 

„Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!“

He rams his fist into the concrete wall until its washed-out white is stained with red. Still, the pain is not enough to numb the burning of his heart. 

„Fuck“, the curse once more leaves his lips, this time no more than a breath, not even a whisper, as Min Yoongi leans his forehead against the cool plaster. 

„Shit.“

Eyes pressed shut, he sharply inhales between clenched teeth. But the pictures won’t leave him alone. 

So close. 

You were so close. Right there, in his very arms. Next to him, in his car. So beautiful. So fragile. So hurt. 

And there was nothing he could have done about it.  

Because you belong to another. 

But you’re his. Destined to be his. Aren’t you? So why can’t he save you? Why can’t he love you? Why won’t you let him? 

With one last curse, muttered under his breath, Yoongi turns around to go. 

Shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep down his jacket pockets, one sleeve still damp, soaked in your blood, he can’t keep himself from walking, his feet and legs moving of their own accord. Yoongi walks away from your house, past his car, into the night. He doesn’t know where he’s running and he couldn’t care less.  

All he knows is that he doesn’t know anything anymore. 

His thoughts are racing.

What did he see in your eyes? Was there a hint of hesitation when you turned away to follow your boyfriend into your shared apartment? Or was Yoongi simply imagining things? Was the longing in your gaze no more than wishful thinking? And why did you apparently feel so comfortable in his presence but then again seem like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough? Why were you so different with him than with your boyfriend? And what the hell was up with that guy? 

I know who you are. So stay away from her. 

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Because he surely can't have any idea who Yoongi really is. No one knows about the Link other than y/n and himself. And even she didn’t discover his true identity. So how could Jimin have figured it out? There’s no way he did. So, who does he think Yoongi is? A secret affair? A former lover? Someone from her past? 

Or did he indeed expose him somehow? Could he endanger the success of Yoongi’s plan? 

There’s only one way to find out. 

Hands shaking, both from the cold of the brisk spring night and the remaining adrenaline still rushing through his burning veins, Yoongi takes out his phone and opens Facebook. 

Park Jimin, Seoul, y/n. 

It doesn’t take him long to find his profile. 

A dancer he is, it seems. And a good one. Smiling sweetly in every photograph ever taken of him, it seems. Yoongi is not impressed. Rather amused. Because he is about to get that innocent facade of his to crumble. 

For a few seconds, his thumb hovers over the touchscreen of his phone before Yoongi finally decides to send his opponent a friend request. 

Now it’s merely a matter of time. 

Initiating phase one.

END OF CHAPTER 11 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌 

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ playlist to the ‘Linked’ series here. 

It contains all the songs being sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader and some more fitting the series’ theme.  

Take care and have a great day! 💜

The GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

[magiclaud]

Lovely Logic

Summary: Arthur gets involved with a fabled mathematician obsessed with theorising the wonders of love. 

a/n: Happy valentine’s! This was my fic for @01blackcat02 for the event of the @usuknetwork! Enjoy my pretty loose interpretation of platonic love just because I love Plato and my dad’s actually given me one of his books :O  I hope y’all like it :) 

*

“I’ve never been in love.”

They were in Arthur’s bedroom, contemplating how the sky drowned with colours which welcomed a new day. Arthur had sat up on the bed, with a sheet covering most of his naked body. His partner was upright, looking at his garden until his words broke the magic spell.

“You’ve never tried.”

Oh, that could be true. And, given the place Arthur worked in, opportunities to fall in love weren’t scarce, or so he had been told.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t take your word for it.”

“Why do you say that?” Alfred, that was his name, walked to his side, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Arthur leaned into the touch, relying on Alfred’s belly when he suddenly snorted.

“What was that?” Alfred was smiling. Arthur could bet his life he was, the cocky boy.

See, Alfred had a reputation. After all, being the handsome CEO of a company that promised love wasn’t all but a bit eerie. Alfred knew how to like — hell, he had worked on the algorithm since he was in highschool—  and had his fair share of love interests.

But he was insatiable. Rumour has it that is why he started his project in the first place. Alfred could never be satisfied. He didn’t settle for attractive people or virtuous ones. He didn’t want money, nor did he want intelligence. And he didn’t want sex.

But then, what could Alfred want? Most people settled for the premise of the young man living on hedonistic pleasures without any commitment. Consequently and given all evidence, Arthur had accepted the fact that, someday, Alfred would get tired of him.

“Why do you like me? What could I possibly have to offer you?”

“Well, why do you like me?”

Ah, dodging the question. In times like these Arthur could tell the boy was still nineteen.

“What? The little genius can’t find the answer himself?” Arthur could remember his own face the first time Alfred invited him to his house, full of blackboards with complicated formulas. He’d shown Arthur, smiling from ear to ear as he explained the logic behind, well, love.

“You should try the service,” Alfred had said, and Arthur had frowned. Now, looking his know-it-all expression, Arthur remembered what he’d said.

“I don’t think that’d work with me.”

“Why not?” Alfred had asked, moving his arms towards the numbers as he started to explain his theory. Arthur was not fond of interrupting him, but he felt that was the only way Alfred would listen to his point.

“Life’s not black and white, you know,” and Arthur remembered Alfred’s expression, with his sunny smile frozen and his eyes open with uncertainty.

“What do you mean?”

“Alfred, I’m a lawyer. I spend my days looking at what did go wrong,” and they were, might’ve he added, as varied as they could get. From spiteful ex-partners to employees wanting to take over their boss’ company, Arthur had discovered just how ill of a weapon such a sentiment like love was.

“Oh, come on, Art, you know there’s always— ”

“I know, trial errors. I get it, Alfred, I — ” Arthur started, then snorted as he bit his lip. “I have enough pragmatism in my life. Come on, look at that: what is genuine in there? There are only patterns. Conditioning. Oh, Alfred, I don’t want to be part of the table’s results.”

“You don’t— ” Alfred’s baby blue eyes seemed to stare right into his soul, “You don’t understand. Feelings are nothing but— ”

“I’m afraid I do, lad,” and Arthur had started walking towards the door, buttoning his jacket as he witnessed the raindrops which stick in Alfred’s window. But Alfred didn’t let go.

“There’s already so much control over our lives, our thoughts, what we learn, what we are, how we’re supposed to feel. Why is it wrong to search control over feelings themselves, over perceptions? What is odd about wanting to give a sensation a value?” he had positioned in front of Arthur, and his manner told him Alfred had certainly learnt from Arthur’s own many ramblings between breaks.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Arthur said, after pausing to think of the proper answer. “Blimey, I guess I’m a romantic.”

Alfred had opened his mouth as he was about to say something but kept quiet. His blond cowlick covered part of his left eye, so he lightly blew over it. Arthur had the impulse to run his hand through Alfred’s tuft, but decided against it and, instead, tightly closed the palm of his hand.

“Well, I want you to say it,” they were on Arthur’s room again, and the Englishman blinked a few times as wondered how much time had he been dozing off. Arthur chuckled, a wave of shame rolling his body until he felt his lip would bleed if he kept chewing it.

They weren’t supposed to be like this.

The day before, Arthur had been occupied for the wave of contracts that preceded Valentine’s day along with the myriad of interested clients. Alfred, on the other hand, had invited the guests to explain the process of his method thoughtfully, and they both had ended the day feeling unbelievably tired. Afterwards, they both had gone to a bar next to Alfred’s company, where Arthur had the chance to relax after a long day. However, Alfred’s quieter manner than usual told Arthur there was something wrong, and so the Englishman decided to put his assertive skills to a good use for once.

“What? You worried about me?” Alfred patted his back, and they had asked for another round. After drinking the liquor, Alfred used his palm to support his own head on the table, tilting it slightly to face Arthur. “I heard Bonnefoy’s affairs has made you an offer.”

Bloody Feliks, Arthur thought but decided to play it cooly. “Oh, that. Yes, I’ve got an acquaintance there, and they’ve just opened their office in New York, so…”

“Are you planning on accepting?” Alfred’s lips were chapped, of a glossy pink that were outlined by the lights of the bar. Arthur gulped, looking down as he swallowed his drink.

“Of course not, now please may we talk about something else?” Arthur asked, avoiding, by all means, Alfred’s sight.

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Arthur said. “It’s — It’s fine, really. Francis Bonnefoy is just a cheeky bastard. Though I hate to admit that I’m especially bitter at the truest statements,” because Francis Bonnefoy didn’t have any problem in using whatever weakness his opponent had in order to get to his target.

“What did he say?” Alfred’s voice was soft, so much that Arthur had actually to lean in closer than he expected to. Arthur wasn’t drunk, but he couldn’t deny the tingly feeling he felt into his stomach.

“He said — hmph, how to put it, he said he’d help me find love. Gave me a bottle of his, too. A cadeaux so I can make up my mind, he told me,” Bonnefoy’s affairs had the same target as them, even though their methods were different. Their approach was focused on pheromones, which was accompanied by the solid release of their exclusive perfumes.

“But you don’t want it,” said Alfred. “Not like this, right?”

“I’m sure you already know the answer,” because what is left then, Arthur wondered, what was there more to desire than a willing companion, one who’d be out of all gimmicks, only subjected to the purest magic of the unknown?

But then, Alfred inched closer — their noses almost touched, and Arthur could smell Alfred’s vanilla hair shampoo, and then his lips were touching Alfred’s, moving in sync — so much, so deep, that Arthur had practically seen stars by the end of the night.

“So,” now Alfred had fallen onto the bed again, and was stroking Arthur’s side as he hushed his whispers, “Why do you like me?”

“I like how you make me feel,” Arthur said, “I like — I like how I always want to be with you. I like how I always feel my best when I’m around you. I like how I don’t have to pretend.”

They kissed again — it was their first kiss in the morning, on Valentine’s day, and it was so sweet Arthur felt dizzy under it, but he wanted an answer, so he resumed his advances to let his partner speak.

“I—  to be honest, I think you’re beautiful,” said Alfred, “You see, at first I wanted to be loved by beautiful people. I polished myself and learnt their behaviour and I understood how to attract the best response from them.

But, I mean, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted something more special, so I started looking for beautiful minds. And I found them — and yes, they were brilliant, but then again they weren’t what I was looking for.

And then, oh Arthur, then I met you, with so much knowledge and a beautiful soul. I didn’t think it was possible — I thought I had to work too much, too much, but when I fell in love I discovered that working on it didn’t put me off.

So now, my love, I crave you like oxygen. Because you’re not a beautiful body, you’re—  you’re the whole essence is lovely, my Arthur!”

And oh, how could Arthur respond to such a sincere sentiment?

He took Alfred’s hands and covered them with his own, as he did nothing but ask:

“Will you be my Valentine?”

[waqasamjadme]

What is Platonic Love and How Far is Romance From it?

 What is Platonic Love and How Far is Romance From it?

Typically two wholesome, sexually-active adults might be shut associates with one another with out there being any intercourse concerned.

Though many individuals consider such unions are unimaginable, they do exist and in reality present sound expertise that may profit partakers once they do get into sexually-intimate relationships.

1 What's Platonic Love?

2 Platonic Love vs. Romantic Love

3 Platonic Love vs. Friendship

4 Well-known Quotes about Platonic Love

WHAT IS PLATONIC LOVE?

The unique idea of platonic love shouldn't be as it's interpreted as we speak. The entire concept was created by the traditional Greek thinker Plato, and it was used to explain the love an individual has for “the divine” facet of life. In different phrases, an individual who needs to grow to be godlike by way of the pursuit and achievement of non secular objectives was stated to be motivated by platonic love.

As time went on, platonic love grew to become the time period related to the idea of a robust but non-sexual cross-sex friendship. Nevertheless the “divine” factor was nonetheless concerned, as this attraction was stated to nonetheless be based mostly on the pursuit of advantage although by way of affiliation with the actual pal concerned. In different phrases platonic love meant an individual was attracted to a different based mostly on what they perceived as the opposite individual’s increased stage of spirituality.

Within the trendy world, platonic love is usually outlined as a robust relationship between two members of the alternative intercourse who're inside suitable and certainly expected-mating ages. However regardless of what would usually seem as an intimate relationship, the 2 events usually are not engaged in sexual exercise or any actions that might point out an precise romantic relationship.

That stated, this doesn't imply the idea of sexual intimacy is completely absent in platonic relationships. As an example, contributors might jokingly flirt with one another.

PLATONIC LOVE VS. ROMANTIC LOVE

Platonic love differs from romantic love in that in a romance there's some stage of precise or outrightly meant sexual intimacy.

Thus the manifestation of a platonic love is completely different from that of a romantic one. As an example, since there is no such thing as a intimacy concerned, contributors are extra cognizant to respect one another’s private area. Furthermore, since there's little prospect of an enduring intimate relationship ever creating, contributors are much less inclined to impose their private wills onto the opposite individual. Alongside the identical vein this lack of high-level private attachment additionally permits contributors to be themselves extra, as in they aren’t afraid to show their true mannerisms and beliefs since there's much less concern of the opposite individual abandoning them. In different phrases, the primary causes an individual might really feel extra snug round their platonic versus romantic love, regardless that logic would dictate the reverse be true, is that platonic relationships have fewer expectations and guidelines concerned, which in flip means contributors might make really feel freer. And this freedom in fact can translate to an elevated sense of happiness or enjoyable.

Finally the easiest way to establish the distinction between a platonic and romantic love could also be by learning the objectives of the contributors. Put in another way, if even one member has the lively aspiration to sleep with the opposite, than it's secure to say that his or her sturdy affection could also be based mostly in romance than commonplace friendship.

When one individual in a platonic relationship begins to develop sexual emotions, this may threaten the character of the connection and certainly put your entire affiliation in danger. If one of many contributors in a platonic relationship is feeling with discontent together with his or her romantic love, this might encourage them to view their non-intimate, platonic pal in a doubtlessly romantic capability.

Some argue that throughout the course of a platonic love, it's inevitable that at the least one of many contributors develops intimate, sexually-based emotions for the opposite. It's the pervasiveness of this perception which explains why many individuals have a tough time accepting the concept of a purely non-sexual cross-sex love.

Platonic loves may also be used as foundations of romantic ones. In different phrases, the communication expertise and sensible information one attains by having a platonic love can help them in coping with the alternative intercourse once they really do embark on a romance, even when it isn't with the identical individual.

PLATONIC LOVE VS. FRIENDSHIP

Platonic love positively has a robust factor of friendship. For instance, folks concerned in a platonic relationship are sometimes described as “simply associates”. Nevertheless, one of many major variations is that in platonic love there's a normal notion of their being an intimate relationship whereas such might not exist in a friendship. In different phrases, two folks, even of the alternative intercourse, might be associates with out it being platonic love if as an illustration, they're co-workers who affiliate as a consequence of circumstance or associates from early childhood who folks wouldn't usually view as potential lovers.

There's a skinny line between the notion of a platonic love and of a normal cross-sex friendship. Nevertheless, since within the former, the phrase “love” is concerned, it may be gleaned {that a} platonic love is extra intimate than a standard friendship, even when no intercourse is concerned. Merely put, having a platonic love is greater than the standard pal. It’s like having a bestie of the alternative intercourse. Beneath such circumstances and given common ideologies on courtship, these fortunate sufficient to expertise a platonic love may even should take care of the distractions of societal pressures that dictate the 2 of them must be sexually concerned.

A powerful friendship between two relations of childbearing age belonging to the alternative intercourse, particularly when they don't seem to be siblings, could also be outlined as a platonic love. Nevertheless, usually they don't seem to be referred to as so. The first motive is that in such associations, simply the concept of the potential to get sexually concerned doesn’t exist, as there are usually taboos in opposition to such practices between blood-related relations who might naturally share shut ties.

Even when contributors in a platonic love determine to take it to the following stage and truly have sexual activity, they usually select to not interact in an all-out, ongoing romantic relationship. The rationale for that is that they worth the friendship factor of the connection a lot that they don't wish to jeopardize it by participating in a doubtlessly fleeting romance.

FAMOUS QUOTES ABOUT PLATONIC LOVE

Under is a compilation of some well-known quotations about platonic love:

Even earlier than I met you I used to be removed from detached to you. Oscar Wilde

He reached out and took her hand. Neither cared that somebody would possibly see. They'd been taught all their lives that the one deep emotions between women and men have been sexual, however now they knew that it was a lie. They have been associates and so they cherished each other, and their hand-holding was completely harmless. It was yet another factor to rejoice in, yet another approach through which that they had risen above the system, above the machine. William Sleator

Platonic or Divine Love: The boy is so good-looking! God has created him so superbly! Vulgar or Earthly Love: The woman is so scorching! I want I might kiss her! Md. Ziaul Haque

[A]s individuals are starting to see that the sexes type in a sure sense a steady group, so they're starting to see that Love and Friendship which have been so usually set aside from one another as issues distinct are in actuality carefully associated and shade imperceptibly into one another. Girls are starting to demand that Marriage shall imply Friendship in addition to Ardour; {that a} comrade-like Equality shall be included within the phrase Love; and it's recognised that from the one excessive of a ‘Platonic’ friendship (usually between individuals of the identical intercourse) as much as the opposite excessive of passionate love (usually between individuals of reverse intercourse) no onerous and quick line can at any level be drawn successfully separating the completely different sorts of attachment. We all know, in actual fact, of Friendships so romantic in sentiment that they verge into love; we all know of Loves so mental and non secular that they hardly dwell within the sphere of Ardour. Edward Carpenter

For love is a celestial concord Of doubtless hearts compos’d of stars’ concent, Which be part of collectively in candy sympathy, To work one another’s pleasure and true content material, Which they've harbour’d since their first descent Out of their heavenly bowers, the place they did see And know one another right here belov’d to be. Edmund Spenser

And people who solely know the non-platonic love haven't any want to speak of tragedy. In such love there might be no kind of tragedy. Leo Tolstoy

Ah, mate. My soul loves yours. It does. However this lifetime, my physique received’t get on board. Molly Ringle

I’ve been questioning if in actual fact superb platonic love isn’t simply an intensely concentrated type of what evokes one of the best academics. Edmund Marlowe

They see nothing indecent in sexual activity, whether or not heterosexual or gay, and take pleasure in it fairly overtly, in full view of everybody. The one exception was Socrates, who was all the time swearing that his relations with younger males have been purely Platonic, however no one believed him for a second, and Hyacinthus and Narcissus gave first-hand proof on the contrary. Lucian of Samosata

That males of this type despise ladies, although a not unusual perception, is one which hardly seems to be justified. Certainly, although naturally not inclined to ‘fall in love’ on this course, such males are by their nature drawn quite close to to ladies, and it might appear# that they usually really feel a singular appreciation and understanding of the emotional wants and destinies of the opposite intercourse, main in lots of circumstances to a real although what is known as ‘Platonic’ friendship. There's little doubt that they're usually instinctively wanted by ladies, who, with out suspecting the true trigger, are acutely aware of a sympathetic chord within the homogenic which they miss within the regular man. Edward Carpenter

I've felt so many loves so deeply: love of associates, love someplace between friendship and romance that our society doesn’t outline, love of artwork, love of life, love of dying, love of language, so many loves such a mess greater than romance. But I've by no means been in a “relationship”. Noella Handley

It might appear possible that the attachment of such a one is of a young and profound character; certainly, it's potential that on this class of males now we have the love sentiment in considered one of its most good types—a type through which from the requirements of the scenario the sensuous factor, although current, is exquisitely subordinated to the non secular. Edward Carpenter

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[never-relaxed]

On the Persona 5 translation

I’ve read a lot of extremely hot takes on the Persona 5 translation today. So many, in fact, that it’s difficult to address everything wholesale. To the their credits, the critics are both thorough & well-articulated, and their arguments are strong enough to get me thinking - strong enough, even, to kickstart me pushing out this writing blog I’ve been wanting to get off the ground.

I want to respond to the myriad of issues listed on the website being currently used as a sort of rallying-cry, http://www.personaproblems.com/ . It’s well-designed, and organizes the issues well. I’ll start at the top, then:

- “Yet no other form of media would ever get away with the number of errors found in Persona 5's English script.”

This is a very minor nitpick, but actually, yes. Other forms of media would, indeed, get away with any number of similar errors; viewers of foreign films, for instance, can tell you all about how perfect-world this sentiment is. Additionally, classic books aren’t retranslated for no reason; direct translation is not actually a Thing, and any translated work is going to display the biases, quirks, and language tendencies of its writer(s). This is why people learn dead or archaic languages just to read Cicero or Plato in the original text. It’s a bizarre claim, to say grammar issues are not a problem throughout other media. (Also, try reading a novel translated from a Slavic language, if you don’t like stiff dialog. Have fun.)

- “The baseline for any translation is this: readers of the translation should receive the same experience as readers of the original, as if the original creators had written it natively in both languages.“

If this is the writer’s goal when they go about their own work, it’s admirable. It’s also completely impossible. What does a “native” English speaker sound like? Are they American? British? Australian? Here’s the short of it: by translating a work in your own native tongue, you are co-authoring the piece. It is never, ever, going to be a 1:1 situation when facing down the realities of character limits, cultural differences, & even personal backgrounds. Some works get closer, some works get further, and it’s down to the writers to decide whether a strict or a loose translation better fits the text.

To a certain degree, the way we think - the actual way we formulate & process our thoughts - is influenced by language itself. If you ever communicate with folks who speak English as a second, third, fourth, or so on language - you’ll notice that, even when extremely proficient, they don’t just totally entirely lose the speech quirks that come with their parent language. Eliminating those quirks of speech already changes the context of the work. Is this a bad thing? No, not necessarily; but it’s presumptuous at best to believe yourself capable of understanding how another person would write “if only they were native” in your language.

- “Translation can be a murky concept, so first I'll define a standard to measure against: imagine if translation weren't necessary at all.”

I absolutely despise this. The assumption made is that any story could be told completely, and just as enjoyably, in any language, in any culture, without any change to structure. It is simply not how language works.

- “Translators do not convert words from one language to another: they convert ideas.”

Okay. Let’s keep this in mind.

- The entire “Why aren’t more people complaining?” section

This is one of the most bizarre, difficult-to-follow explanations I have ever seen. It makes totally weird assertions, such as the idea that people hold early, loose translations against current-day translators. That’s a really strange idea, considering the popularity of things like NA Kefka, or bounty-hunter-Samus. The truth is that if the translation was good back in the 90s, no one cared if it was inaccurate. Outside of Usenet, none of us really had a point of reference. The writer seems to have some sort of personal beef with Working Designs leaving Bill Clinton jokes in their work, or something. I am especially confused by the TV Tropes links here, and what they have to do with the point.

Cutting down on this section, we could just apply Occam’s razor: most people have no issue with the translation. 

- I’m not going to go through all the examples. There are some I think are silly, some that I haven’t seen yet, some that are definitely awkward.

One thing that does frustrate me about these examples - it’s noted by the writer that the script does a fine job of getting _the idea_ across. There are few, if really any, examples of the game actually failing to convey meaning. By the author’s own definition of what a translator does, the script succeeds. No, it doesn’t flow the way it would if it were written by an American. Translate dialog this way, and it sounds weird for English speakers elsewhere in the world. It’s a give and take - we don’t all speak the same English. “But these are factual errors!” is a really silly argument here; if they are, why isn’t this an issue for everybody?

- “Unfortunately, while it's possible for a translation to be stiff but understandable, stiff but accurate translations are pretty much a myth.”

I hate this idea, too. “If it doesn’t sound right in American English, it’s incorrect, & doesn’t get the idea across.” The other thing I really don’t like about this is the vast majority of dialog in Persona 5 flows very smoothly for native English speakers! The writer even seems to be aware of that fact, as I’ll address later.

- “It's definitely great to get to experience the cultural aspect of a piece of foreign writing. However, that foreign nature should be expressed by the text's content, not by the text's awkwardness. This goes back to creator intent. If the original creator were perfectly fluent in English, would they have made their writing intentionally awkward just so readers could feel how “foreign” it is?”

I really fucking hate this! How are you ‘expressing’ the cultural aspect of a text by eliminating the speech quirks of the parent language - is the implication that you intentionally add lines to express the character’s nationality? It really feels like ‘thing that detracts from my experience by taking me out of my personal cultural & linguistic comfort zone should be removed and replaced with, y’know, something.’ And that final claim! People who write in two languages - or speak fluently two languages - will very, very often include quirks, stiffness, or other eccentricities in their own personal English. If the author means “fluent in the brand of English I speak and write,” that’s extremely irritating!

- “Consider—how would readers react if George R. R. Martin released his next book and every third sentence was awkward, with every fifth sentence containing an objective error? Writing is hard, and his novels are long, after all.“

I wish this author had simply not written this blurb, I was so much warmer on the criticism beforehand. George R. R. Martin works in an entirely different medium, in one language, with years and years between each published work. The criticisms even this writer has with Persona 5 do not extend to “every third sentence,” “with every fifth sentence” containing some sort of grand, inexcusable error. People would be far, far more upset if this were actually the case. This comparison fails in every conceivable way, & is just outright ignorant.

- “One reason someone might use this defense is that they genuinely don't see a problem, because to them those flaws aren't flaws. And that's valid, so long as they accept other people's right to believe otherwise.”

I like this. I wish the author didn’t hide this at the end, behind all of the assertions of objective “failure” and “outright errors.”

- “I haven't listed every mistake in Persona 5, or even a substantial fraction of them. I've also been forced to focus on the translation aspect of localization, which means I haven't properly addressed other failings such as bad typography, untranslated images and video, and voiced lines that are unsubbed even when Japanese audio is enabled.1 Nor have I dedicated time to the sometimes strange handling of honorifics.“

The typography complaint is valid, though one of the pettiest things I’ve seen in awhile now, and the untranslated images are a series staple, but the honorifics thing HAS bothered me since P3. Just commit or don’t, guys.. Anyway, not much to say about this chunk. I just wanted to say, man that honorifics stuff can be weird (& has been for years).

Listen: If you take nothing else from this write up, understand that I have no issue with people disliking the P5 translation. That’s totally fine. My problem is with the concept of there existing a ‘correct’ English, or a ‘correct’ translation. My problem is with the repeated emphasis this writer, and others expanding on them, place on their definition of “objective” errors. The vast majority of the moments picked out by this writer are not selections of terrible grammatical errors - and I’d argue that it’s /completely fine/ for a couple of those to exist in a fucking video game - but of what the author calls stiff language. That is to say: Neither meaning nor soul are impaired by the P5 translation.

The reverence with which this author refers to the text - referencing how the translation has ruined one of the ‘greatest RPGs of the last ten years’ for them, and so on, so forth - speaks to a kind of pedestal-hoisting that does no good for anyone. For example, in the Sae moment detailed on the site from the start of the game, with the “psychic detective”; what makes the original so good? In Japanese, the detective says “There’s been a call for you” right before she receives a call on her cell phone. Is this not silly as all fuck? Why is it so much better? Why did Sae’s boss call the detective first, why didn’t he just call her cell phone if he had it the whole time? The English script changes the moment to make the detective seem aware that she’s about to receive the call - emphasizing that the detective and Sae’s boss are working together no one in the scene can be trusted, while also positing Sae as an outsider. Watch the scene again and see if you get what I’m saying. https://youtu.be/f3bVM2mxh4k?t=876

It’s super frustrating that a changes like this get flak from this writer, while the worldview being pushed is one of ‘capturing the spirit, not the words.’ It’s also frustrating that many of the game’s legitimate, real problems (that aren’t fucking, the font used to spell out ‘hello’ on a calculator, god damn guys it’s okay most people have done that before) are ignored - such as the constant battle chatter every time you hit a weakpoint in a game centered on repeatedly exploiting weaknesses, or the intensity of the writing game’s first chapter. The writing is held in extremely high regard, & the translation is being used to try to assert the truth of controversial axioms without actually needing to discuss said assumed “truths.”

I just want to leave with one assertion: There is no “correct” English. It’s okay for a text to sound awkward (especially in visual media) _with the caveat_ that it must get the spirit of the original work across. It’s all right, for sure, for a foreign text to challenge or disrupt the expectations of a native English speaker in its translation. In some ways (and not even all), Persona 5′s translation does this. Is it a perfect translation? No, no translation is. Do you have to like it? No. Should you respect the opinion of players who do (as well as ESL players & those abroad!) enough to avoid making sweeping, generalized statements about the failure of the script to appeal to your individual sensibilities, complete with long, detailed theories as to why other people don’t seem to mind? Please. _Please_. Honestly, y’all make this game sound like it’s Chaos Wars, or Arc Rise Fantasia. The hyperbole is unreal, and it simply needs to stop.

[amethyst-labyrinth]

More then Anything

Here an angst-y one-shot i wrote awhile ago about Plato and Tugger. 

lato loved The Rum Tum Tugger. To him Tugger was breath of fresh air, so different from the other cats, he lived by his own rules, but wasn't evil like The Hidden Paw or bad like Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. Plato loved everything about him, the way he walked, talked, sang. How he could rile up the others and not get in trouble for it.

He had kept his love for Tugger a secret masking it with idolizing him like many of the younger toms and kittens. He knew he didn't have a chance with older tom and that he was lucky to be considered a friend by Tugger and that had been enough until the Jellice ball.

Everything had changed during and after the ball. It started with Tugger's song. The sexual energy of the singing and dancing was so thick in the air that Plato could taste it and it was all the brown and white tom could do to keep himself in check. He was rather thankful of how jealous he was becoming of Jemima, as Tugger would single her out during his song what was so special about the little queen kit anyway? Being jealous of her kept him from embarrassing himself.

It was only after Old Deuteronomy's kidnapping and return did Plato's resolve not to tell Tugger how he felt brake. The way he sung about Mr. Mistoffelees, the cat they all knew as Quaxo, the cat who insulted and ignored him. The way Tugger looked at him, danced with him, respected him! Plato couldn't stand it! He didn't hate the magical cat, how could he? They were friends in their own way and he had saved Old Deuteronomy, but he was so jealous of him more then of Jemima and Bombalurina combined. Why him? How could Tugger want to be with someone who didn't see how wonderful he was who didn't worship him?

Demeter was always giving lectures about healthy relationship and mate-ships, to Plato it didn't seem like Tugger and Quaxo had healthy relationship and that was why he was going to tell Tugger that he loved him, maybe if Tugger knew that he was loved really, really loved he'd leave Quaxo and be with him.

It was week after the Jeillice ball; Tugger had come down to the junkyard to visit and take a brake from being a housecat. Mr. Mistoffelees was not with him; according to Tugger he was ether on the roof of their human home or curled up by the fire inside their human home. Plato didn't care one way or the other, just as long as he got to talk to Tugger alone.

Swallowing a lump in this throat and possibly his heart, as he was sure it was in his stomach he strolled up to the older tom.

"Hi, Tugger!" He said happily trying not to act nervous, why did the thought of confessing his undying love for the Mane Coon frighten him so much now?

"Plato!" Tugger acknowledged him beamingly. "And how is my favorite newly turned adult tom doing? Adult life treating you oaky?"

Favorite? He was Tugger's favorite! That filled him with hope, he could do this, he could tell Tugger how he felt and Tugger would feel the same way!

"I'm good! Real good!" Plato said with happiness.

"Well isn't that good," Tugger smirked at the other tom's exuberances.

"I've moved out of my mother's den and found one of my own."

"Got yourself a den already? Well you've piped my curiosity. Going to invite me over sometime to see it?" Tugger asked him flirtatiously.

"No time like the present," Plato said barely able to resist throwing his arms around Tugger and burying his head in Tugger's mane.

"Why not?" Tugger said stretching showing off his lean muscular body making the queens surrounding him swoon, even Plato felt his knees buckle. "There's nothing else to do. Lead the way."

"Right!" Plato said brightly offering his arm to Tugger, the Mane Coon however declined hitching his thumb claws into his belt. Apparently walking arm in arm was reserved for one tuxedo cat alone.

They walked in silence with Plato deep in thought, how could he put into words his love for The Rum Tum Tugger, how could he tell him how much he loved, worship him! He'd give his life for him.

Finally they came upon a tall broken antique gramophone. The cabinet where records had been kept was broken as well leavening enough space for a cat or two too live in.

"This it?" Tugger asked as he sniffed the air smelling Plato's scent from marking his new den.

"Yep!" Plato said with pride. "Do you like it?"

"Nice," The Mane Coon said rubbing the side of his face on one of the corners of the gramophone leaving a bit of his scent as well. "You know if you got this thing working and got some records, I bet a certain white queen would just love to come practice her dancing here," Tugger continued examining the gramophone with interest.

"Rum Tum Tugger," Plato said deciding to use Tugger's full name.

"Problem?" Tugger asked turning to face the brown and white cat smirking.

Looking him dead in the eyes Plato said it. "I love you."

Tugger's expression turned bored, he didn't even seemed flattered. Plato knew Tugger was used to cats professing their love to him, but why did he have to look so bored when he said it!

"I mean it! I love you! With every part of my being! I do!" Plato said grabbing Tugger's shoulders with his paws, at least Tugger didn't bat him away.

"Well, thank you the sentiment," Tugger began sounding uninterested. " However I…"

"I know you're with him," Plato said almost darkly.

"Him?" Tugger asked with a hint of amusement. "Him who?"

"Mr. Quaxo Mistoffelees," This time Plato said his name darkly and Tugger's scowled.

"Say his name with respect kit. He's earned it and he has a higher rank in the tribe then you."

"I didn't see you when Macavity and Munkustrap fought," Plato continued. "I was so afraid something had happened to you, that Macavity or one of his agents hurt you I…I don't know what I'd do if anything happen to you," Plato said shaking him.

"Is there a point to this?" Tugger asked removing Plato's paws from his shoulder, if it were more possible he sounded even more disinterested then before.

"I had to knew where you were, if you were alright or not, I didn't care about anything else, only you Tugger! Only you," He said softly."

"How very sweet," Tugger said sarcastically.

"To me you are the Everlasting Cat," Plato told him earnestly.

"Well that's a new one, not very effective, but new," Tugger said clearly not moved by Plato's devotion to him.

"I found you with him, I couldn't hear what you and Quaxo…Mr. Mistoffelees were saying, but the way you were looking at him, I've never seen you look at any one cat like that before, it was how I always wanted you to look at me and then you kissed him."

"Kiss for good luck," Tugger said remembering and smiling a little.

"I'm not afraid of him. I will be a much better mate too you then him. We can tell him together if you want or I can tell him and you can move into my den with me or we can find a bigger den if you want and we can find some humans to take us in and…."

"Enough!" Tugger said angrily. "You are missing the litter box completely here. First of all I have absolutely no intention of leave Misto for you or anyone else and I don't do flings on the side. At the moment I like my den and will stay till I get tired of it and lastly I'm a bit attached to my human family and they would be devastated if I where to disappear."

"But Tugger," Plato began again. "I will treat so much better then him! I'll never say a cruel word to you in your life, I'll hunt for you and every day when we wake up and every night before we go to sleep I'll tell you how much I love you," He finished earnestly.

"Everlasting Cat! You are serious aren't you?" Tugger said with an air of annoyance, he leaped away a little bit from Plato; he couldn't stand standing still for too long. "Well, well," Tugger said as he started to pace. "I am flattered, really I am, but as you are aware my heart lay elsewhere…"

"How could you love him?" Plato asked him desperately. "He's cruel to you!"

"Cruel to be kind kit, cruel to be kind," Tugger corrected him. "Listen Plato, I really do like you, you're nice kit."

"I'm tom! A full grown tom, I'm as tall as you Tugger!"

"You're action a kitten and how tall you are as nothing to with age. Now listen, I could give the whole spiel on how lets just be friends and all that platonic jazz, but I'm going to be a bit more honest with you. You are nothing new, everything you've said to me has been said before, not all the same words, but the same meaning and it means nothing to me."

"Then why do you flirt with everyone?"

"Because I can, because it's fun. It's what I do and there's no doing anything about it!" Tugger sung the last doing a pelvic thrust. "Well now that I've rejected you, ripped out your heart and uh shredded it to pieces I'll leave you alone now. Catch you on the flip side."

But Tugger's rejecting of him only made Plato want him even more! Tugger showing him a glimpse of his cold cruel nature was more of a turn on then anything else, Plato needed him, hungered for him, before Tugger had a chance to walk away Plato pounced on him knocking the larger cat onto the ground.

Tugger actually looked surprised. Plato panted as he looked down at Tugger, he was straddling him his front paws on Tugger's chest.

"You're going to beat me up for rejecting you?" He asked none to pleased.

"No, I'm being dominant, isn't that what you love?" Plato told him squeezing Tugger between his thighs.

Tugger's eyes widen. "Stop it!" He hissed throwing the other tom off him.

"I heard you say it!" Plato said getting up and making his way towards Tugger. The Mane Coon bristled, tail swatting side to side, teeth beard claws out. "I heard you say it to him! After the ball I went to your den to talk to you. I didn't unstained what you meant to first and then I heard his voice and saw your shadows…"

That was enough for Tugger in a blind fury he charged at the younger tom pinning him against his den.

"You pervert! You disgusting little pervert! That was a private intimate moment between me and my mate!" Tugger yelled shaking him, his claws digging into Plato's shoulders.

"I left when I realized what you two were doing! I can't stand the thought of you being with anyone, but me! I love you! I want you be with me!"

"Well I don't love you! Not even as a friend! How could want to be even associated with someone as pathetic as you?" Tugger spat nostrils flaring, lips snarling. As much as Tugger's words stung Plato couldn't help being more attracted to him. The way Tugger's body was tense pressed up against his, his hot breath on him, even Tugger's claws digging into his fur felt good. Oh how he wanted him.

"I just want to save you!" Plato said grabbing his arms with his paws.

"Save me? Save me from what?"

"From him! You're in abusive relationship! He's verbally abusing you!"

Tugger snorted and shook Plato's paws off him.

"You really don't get it do you?" Tugger asked. "You think love is all about sweet talk and mating. Well it's more to that much more."

"But," Plato began to protest. "Demeter says mates should be nice to one another and he's not nice to you."

"Everlasting Cat! You really are a kitten in a tom's body."

"But your song he called you…"

"So? I've called him worse things then that and he's called me worse things then that too. It's how we play."

"But when you sang about him it was nothing but praise," Plato said, he didn't understand that Tugger was getting at.

"Of course it was!" Tugger said exasperated. "Do you think, I'm going to sing a song filled with insults to convince the others that Mistoffelees is magical and bring back Old Deuteronomy?"

"Dose that mean, you didn't mean it? All that praise? Was it all false?" Plato asked hopefully as he pawed at Tugger. He didn't want Tugger praising anyone not even Old Deuteronomy. He wanted Tugger all to himself, he just needed to prove himself worthy of the Mane Coon.

"I meant every single solitary word," Tugger told him evenly swatting him off.

"I don't understand, I don't!" Plato yelled confused, love was supposed to be simple and pure, Tugger was supposed to love him back. None of this made sense.

"Enough with the dramatics, you're not impressing anyone," Tugger told him sounding bored again. "It's simplicity in itself really. I get too much praise and admiration while Quaxo doesn't get enough so we trade praise for insults, keeps me grounded and him afloat, understand?"

"No, you're a God, why would you now want to be worship everyday by everyone?" Plato asked throwing his arms around Tugger again; he just couldn't keep his paws off him, with Tugger so close to him. Tugger once gain threw him off.

"Keep your paws to yourself," Tugger told him. "Let's try this every time Misto insults me it turns me on, I get so-oh hot," Tugger deadpanned.

"I could do that, if that's what you want," Plato said refusing to give up. "You, you're a, you're a…" He couldn't say anything how could he said a word against the cat he loved worshiped. "Just tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it."

Tugger growled in annoyance sending sensual shivers down Plato's spine.

"Why can't you get it though your think skull, I want nothing from you and nothing to do with you! I have a mate and even if I didn't I still wouldn't want you! Now this conversion is over!" And with that Tugger turned to leave, Plato couldn't let it end like this he had one last desperate ditch effort to try.

"His put a spell on you!" Plato cried running after him.

Tugger turned to face him again this time more angry then annoyed. "He doesn't love you! He's using you for his own sick pleasures! He's just like Macavity!" Tugger's claws collided with Plato's face. "I'll save you from him!" Plato continued not caring that Tugger was attacking him. He continued to hurl frantic abuse and slander about the magical cat while Tugger clawed and punched him with such anger that he never knew he possessed.

How dare he say those thing about Mistoffelees, didn't he know those words and actuations were dangerous? If the cats got wind of it and believed it they could demanded he be thrown out of the tribe or be kept prisoner with in the junkyard or even worse killed. But it was even more then that to Plato say such horrid untrue things about the cat he loved in some sick attempt to win him over was just too much!

Plato didn't care that Tugger was beating him; in fact he was enjoying it to some degree. Tugger was touching him, that was all that matter. The intense look of face his even if it was hatred it was directed solely at him. Tugger's heavy panting…. suddenly Tugger stopped beating up the younger tom a horrified look on his face.

"You're enjoying this!" He accused stepping back from the young tom.

"Yes," Plato admitted. "I don't care if I'm your punching bag, as long as I'm something to you. I love you."

"You don't love me, what you feel for me isn't love I don't what it is and I don't want to know. Now listen," Tugger hissed. "You. Are. Nothing. To. Me. Not my friend, not my enemy, nothing. So stay the hell away from me and, you better stay the hall away from my mate or else I will personal have throw out of the tribe and into Macavity's paws. Is that clear and understood?" Tugger asked him coldly.

Plato meekly nodded.

"Good, I'm leaving now, don't follow and don't call out to me." Tugger fluffed up his mane and marched away from the crestfallen tom. He ignored the cries from the queens as he entered the main clearing. He was too worked up to be around the other cats, as he left the junkyard he was vaguely aware of Munkustrap calling out and following him. He didn't trust himself around his humans or Mistoffelees not in the mood he was in and especially after Plato tried to force himself on him.

He needed calming, he needed to tell what happen without judgment, and he needed…

"Old Deuteronomy," Tugger said when he arrived at the vicarage wall.

"Rum Tum Tugger, my son," The Old cat said acknowledge him as he carefully jumped down. "What has upset you so?"

Looking into his father's wise old eyes and seeing his unconditional love and understanding Tugger told him everything that happened between him and Plato, the tips of his ears burning slightly from embarrassment when he told him that Plato had overheard himself and Mistoffelees mating. When he was finished he buried his head in his father's fur in a rare show of vulnerability. Munkustrap who had followed Tugger was too shocked and angry to speak. How could Plato act like that? He also wasn't sure if Tugger handled what happen the right way, but under the circumstances he wasn't if he himself could have handled it any different.

Old Deuteronomy was grave and silent deep in thought.

"Will you be all right my son?"

"I think so, I throw Plato off before he could really do anything, if he even knows how, but he enjoyed me hurting him. I like good wrestle and play fight as much as the next cat, but not to the point where it hurts and I wasn't holding back."

"I will speak to young Plato about his…feelings for you, Munkustrap my son, walk Rum Tum Tugger to his human home. Rum Tum Tugger, you must tell youg Quaxo what has happen, he has a right to know."

"Yes father," The two tomcats replied.

"Father?" Tugger said. "Dose the rest of the tribe have to know what happen? Mistoffelees will be very embarrassed if all the tribe finds out that Plato overheard us and…I'm not very proud about how I acted I shouldn't have attacked him like that, it's just he was saying those things about Misto and I just…" Tugger trailed off. "The younger toms look up to me you know and I wouldn't want them thinking it's oaky attacked another cat if they say something they don't like."

"Young Plato's wounds can not be hidden. The tribe will know something happened and that young Plato was in the wrong, but they need not no the particulars, do you not agree Munkustrap?"

"You know best father," The gray tabby answered. "Come Rum, lets get you to your human home. Are you sure you're really all right," He asked as they walked away.

Plato lay curled up in his den, the reality of what truly happen as well the stinging pain of the scratch and punches he'd received from Tugger came down a upon him hard. Everlasting Cat what was wrong with him? Not only did he ruin any chance with Tugger, but also their friendship and most likely his and Quaxo's as well. Tugger's harsh words of telling Plato that he was nothing to him repeated over and over again the young tom's head. He wished Tugger had killed him instead; he didn't want to live anymore. The Rum Tum Tugger was his reason for living, and now without Tugger in his life he had nothing to live for. Tears escaped form his eyes all he wanted now was for Death's cat come and take him. Instead the sand-cat came, Plato was so emotionally and physically exhausted that he cried himself to sleep. When he awoke he was aware of a cat standing outside his den.

"Old Deuteronomy?" He asked groggily.

The old cat nodded in response. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Plato said still sleepy. He had heard cat-lore about Death's cat one story stating that said cat could take the guise of any cat it choose and would trick others into letting it into their dens and then take their life. He hoped more the wondered if was being visited by Death's cat and not his leader.

Old Deuteronomy sat down and surveyed Plato, he covered in deep scratches. The Old cat frowned he did not approved of what Tugger had done, but he could not fault him ether, Tugger had acted on fear and instinct.

"Rum Tum Tugger told me what happened," The Jellice leader said.

Plato became more awake realizing he truly was in the presents if his leader.

"I am I being thrown out of the tribe?" Plato asked timidly.

"No," The Old cat said kindly.

"I-I-I just wanted Tugger to know that I love him and have him and love me back. Is that so wrong?"

"It is never wrong to love and want to be loved. But it is wrong to try force that love on someone and try to force them to love you back."

"I didn't mean for that to happen, it just did. I couldn't stop or control myself."

"I know my kitten," The older cat said kindly once again.

"I just don't understand his and Quaxo's relationship, they don't seem like loving mates."

"It is not your places to try and understand their relationship, but to respect it. You do not have to like it or approve of it, but you must respect that they are together. Do you truly believe the thing you said about young Quaxo?"

"I did when I said them, but I know there're not true. It was as if, if I believed them, then Tugger would too."

"Plato, I will not abide you or any other cat spreading falsehood for their own personal gain especially if it dangers the reputation of another cat."

"I know, sir, I swear I won't do it again. It only made things worse anyhow. What am I going to do, Old Deuteronomy? I love Tugger so much I don't know if I can live without him. And he hates me, he wants nothing to do with me."

"Are sure it is love that you feel for him? Love, lust, and obsession are three very different things they can feel almost the same and too me it dose not sound like it is love you feel for him."

"No it is love! I know how I feel. I need Tugger in my life and I don't know what do now.

"Even if it is only as his friend?"

"I'd be happy if he only acknowledged my existences. That isn't going to happen." He said miserably.

Old Deuteronomy was silent Plato's love for Tugger boarded on obsession whether it would come to be dangerous, he did not know but he also felt bad for the young tom, he knew what it was like love, to love with all that you are and not being loved back, he had been there many times.

"Young Plato, I can not excuse your actions even if they were done in ignorance or with best intentions at heart and I wonder if you truly know and understand all you have done wrong."

"Everything I did was wrong! I shouldn't even have told Tugger how I felt; we'd still be friends if I hadn't. Everlasting Cat I forced myself on him!" Plato said mournfully putting his head in his paws. "If anyone ever did that to me or one of my sisters, or ether of my parents... I'm a monster like Macaivty!"

"I would no go that far, but I do not want what you did to happen again with any other cat. And I will know if it dose happen again."

"How could that happen to another cat? Tugger's the only cat I love and want."

"You may think that now, but in time you may feel differently and should that happen come to me first and I will help you to convey your feeling the right way."

"Right now I just want to apologize to Tugger."

"That is a good start, but I think it best if you do stay away from Rum Tum Tugger for now. I do not want to give you false hope, but in due time Rum Tum Tugger may forgive you and at some point my even well see you as an acquaintance whom he might socialize with in a gathering, but it will take a long time and you must not force it."

"I understand."

"There's more, you must be punished for what you have done. When your wounds have healed some, you will report to Munkustrap to be assigned tasks and chores until it is decided that have learned repercussions of your actions. Munkustrap also knows what happened, but he will be fair, if not perhaps a bit more stern. Rum Tum Tugger would not like the rest of rest of the tribe to know what happen, all that will be known is that you have done something wrong and are being punished for it. Unstand?"

"Yes sir," Plato said solemnly.

"I know it feels like the end of the world, but it's not. Now do you need anything?"

"No, I think I'd just like to be alone now."

"Very well," Old Deuteronomy said he left Plato's den.

It was one mouth later, every cat in the tribe know something had happened between Plato and Tugger, but they didn't know what and both cats were tight lip about it, but it was generally thought that Plato challenged Tugger to a fight or his place in the tribe and got his tail handed back to him.

Plato kept his distance from both Tugger and Mistoffelees none of the other cats thought much of it and besides the tasks and chores kept the young tom pretty busy from the bizarre task collecting as many blue items as he could from the chore of cleaning out old abandoned dens.

One day when Plato was making his across the clearing to report to Munustrap he saw Tugger and Mistoffeless sitting on the trunk of the TSE-1. Mistoffelees was showing Tugger a card trick.

Plato swallowed hard it was his only chance. He carefully and slowly walked as close the broken down car as he dared. The two cats became aware of his presents and turned their head towards him. Tugger would have wanted to ignore him, but was curious by nature and wonder what the young tom could be up to. Though he'd be ready, should Plato try to do anything. Tugger unsheathed his claws and put on his best intimating face.

Plato fought the urge to profess his love again. It wasn't fair that Tugger could look so good while looking so fierce. Mistoffelees on the other paw had a neutral expression on his face, but tiny little sparks danced around his claws.

In a voice so quite that only the two cats in front of him could hear Plato said, "I'm sorry," Before walking away. As he walked away he heard Tugger snort in his direction. It wasn't an acceptance or a sign of forgiveness, but at least it was an acknowledgment and that was more then anything Plato could really hope for.

la fin

[seekhimfindhim]

“Loving Your Enemies”

Sermon by Martin Luther King, Jr.

November 17th, 1957

So I want to turn your attention to this subject: "Loving Your Enemies." It’s so basic to me because it is a part of my basic philosophical and theological orientation—the whole idea of love, the whole philosophy of love. In the fifth chapter of the gospel as recorded by Saint Matthew, we read these very arresting words flowing from the lips of our Lord and Master: "Ye have heard that it has been said, ‘Thou shall love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy.’ But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven."

Certainly these are great words, words lifted to cosmic proportions. And over the centuries, many persons have argued that this is an extremely difficult command. Many would go so far as to say that it just isn’t possible to move out into the actual practice of this glorious command. They would go on to say that this is just additional proof that Jesus was an impractical idealist who never quite came down to earth. So the arguments abound. But far from being an impractical idealist, Jesus has become the practical realist. The words of this text glitter in our eyes with a new urgency. Far from being the pious injunction of a Utopian dreamer, this command is an absolute necessity for the survival of our civilization. Yes, it is love that will save our world and our civilization, love even for enemies.

Now let me hasten to say that Jesus was very serious when he gave this command; he wasn’t playing. He realized that it’s hard to love your enemies. He realized that it’s difficult to love those persons who seek to defeat you, those persons who say evil things about you. He realized that it was painfully hard, pressingly hard. But he wasn’t playing. And we cannot dismiss this passage as just another example of Oriental hyperbole, just a sort of exaggeration to get over the point. This is a basic philosophy of all that we hear coming from the lips of our Master. Because Jesus wasn’t playing; because he was serious. We have the Christian and moral responsibility to seek to discover the meaning of these words, and to discover how we can live out this command, and why we should live by this command.

Now first let us deal with this question, which is the practical question: How do you go about loving your enemies? I think the first thing is this: In order to love your enemies, you must begin by analyzing self. And I’m sure that seems strange to you, that I start out telling you this morning that you love your enemies by beginning with a look at self. It seems to me that that is the first and foremost way to come to an adequate discovery to the how of this situation.

Now, I’m aware of the fact that some people will not like you, not because of something you have done to them, but they just won’t like you. I’m quite aware of that. Some people aren’t going to like the way you walk; some people aren’t going to like the way you talk. Some people aren’t going to like you because you can do your job better than they can do theirs. Some people aren’t going to like you because other people like you, and because you’re popular, and because you’re well-liked, they aren’t going to like you. Some people aren’t going to like you because your hair is a little shorter than theirs or your hair is a little longer than theirs. Some people aren’t going to like you because your skin is a little brighter than theirs; and others aren’t going to like you because your skin is a little darker than theirs. So that some people aren’t going to like you. They’re going to dislike you, not because of something that you’ve done to them, but because of various jealous reactions and other reactions that are so prevalent in human nature.

But after looking at these things and admitting these things, we must face the fact that an individual might dislike us because of something that we’ve done deep down in the past, some personality attribute that we possess, something that we’ve done deep down in the past and we’ve forgotten about it; but it was that something that aroused the hate response within the individual. That is why I say, begin with yourself. There might be something within you that arouses the tragic hate response in the other individual.

This is true in our international struggle. We look at the struggle, the ideological struggle between communism on the one hand and democracy on the other, and we see the struggle between America and Russia. Now certainly, we can never give our allegiance to the Russian way of life, to the communistic way of life, because communism is based on an ethical relativism and a metaphysical materialism that no Christian can accept. When we look at the methods of communism, a philosophy where somehow the end justifies the means, we cannot accept that because we believe as Christians that the end is pre-existent in the means. But in spite of all of the weaknesses and evils inherent in communism, we must at the same time see the weaknesses and evils within democracy.

Democracy is the greatest form of government to my mind that man has ever conceived, but the weakness is that we have never touched it. Isn’t it true that we have often taken necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes? Isn’t it true that we have often in our democracy trampled over individuals and races with the iron feet of oppression? Isn’t it true that through our Western powers we have perpetuated colonialism and imperialism? And all of these things must be taken under consideration as we look at Russia. We must face the fact that the rhythmic beat of the deep rumblings of discontent from Asia and Africa is at bottom a revolt against the imperialism and colonialism perpetuated by Western civilization all these many years. The success of communism in the world today is due to the failure of democracy to live up to the noble ideals and principles inherent in its system.

And this is what Jesus means when he said: "How is it that you can see the mote in your brother’s eye and not see the beam in your own eye?" Or to put it in Moffatt’s translation: "How is it that you see the splinter in your brother’s eye and fail to see the plank in your own eye?" And this is one of the tragedies of human nature. So we begin to love our enemies and love those persons that hate us whether in collective life or individual life by looking at ourselves.

A second thing that an individual must do in seeking to love his enemy is to discover the element of good in his enemy, and everytime you begin to hate that person and think of hating that person, realize that there is some good there and look at those good points which will over-balance the bad points.

I’ve said to you on many occasions that each of us is something of a schizophrenic personality. We’re split up and divided against ourselves. And there is something of a civil war going on within all of our lives. There is a recalcitrant South of our soul revolting against the North of our soul. And there is this continual struggle within the very structure of every individual life. There is something within all of us that causes us to cry out with Ovid, the Latin poet, "I see and approve the better things of life, but the evil things I do." There is something within all of us that causes us to cry out with Plato that the human personality is like a charioteer with two headstrong horses, each wanting to go in different directions. There is something within each of us that causes us to cry out with Goethe, "There is enough stuff in me to make both a gentleman and a rogue." There is something within each of us that causes us to cry out with Apostle Paul, "I see and approve the better things of life, but the evil things I do."

So somehow the "isness" of our present nature is out of harmony with the eternal "oughtness" that forever confronts us. And this simply means this: That within the best of us, there is some evil, and within the worst of us, there is some good. When we come to see this, we take a different attitude toward individuals. The person who hates you most has some good in him; even the nation that hates you most has some good in it; even the race that hates you most has some good in it. And when you come to the point that you look in the face of every man and see deep down within him what religion calls "the image of God," you begin to love him in spite of. No matter what he does, you see God’s image there. There is an element of goodness that he can never sluff off. Discover the element of good in your enemy. And as you seek to hate him, find the center of goodness and place your attention there and you will take a new attitude.

Another way that you love your enemy is this: When the opportunity presents itself for you to defeat your enemy, that is the time which you must not do it. There will come a time, in many instances, when the person who hates you most, the person who has misused you most, the person who has gossiped about you most, the person who has spread false rumors about you most, there will come a time when you will have an opportunity to defeat that person. It might be in terms of a recommendation for a job; it might be in terms of helping that person to make some move in life. That’s the time you must do it. That is the meaning of love. In the final analysis, love is not this sentimental something that we talk about. It’s not merely an emotional something. Love is creative, understanding goodwill for all men. It is the refusal to defeat any individual. When you rise to the level of love, of its great beauty and power, you seek only to defeat evil systems. Individuals who happen to be caught up in that system, you love, but you seek to defeat the system.

The Greek language, as I’ve said so often before, is very powerful at this point. It comes to our aid beautifully in giving us the real meaning and depth of the whole philosophy of love. And I think it is quite apropos at this point, for you see the Greek language has three words for love, interestingly enough. It talks about love as eros. That’s one word for love. Eros is a sort of, aesthetic love. Plato talks about it a great deal in his dialogues, a sort of yearning of the soul for the realm of the gods. And it’s come to us to be a sort of romantic love, though it’s a beautiful love. Everybody has experienced eros in all of its beauty when you find some individual that is attractive to you and that you pour out all of your like and your love on that individual. That is eros, you see, and it’s a powerful, beautiful love that is given to us through all of the beauty of literature; we read about it.

Then the Greek language talks about philia, and that’s another type of love that’s also beautiful. It is a sort of intimate affection between personal friends. And this is the type of love that you have for those persons that you’re friendly with, your intimate friends, or people that you call on the telephone and you go by to have dinner with, and your roommate in college and that type of thing. It’s a sort of reciprocal love. On this level, you like a person because that person likes you. You love on this level, because you are loved. You love on this level, because there’s something about the person you love that is likeable to you. This too is a beautiful love. You can communicate with a person; you have certain things in common; you like to do things together. This is philia.

The Greek language comes out with another word for love. It is the word agape. And agape is more than eros; agape is more than philia; agape is something of the understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is a love that seeks nothing in return. It is an overflowing love; it’s what theologians would call the love of God working in the lives of men. And when you rise to love on this level, you begin to love men, not because they are likeable, but because God loves them. You look at every man, and you love him because you know God loves him. And he might be the worst person you’ve ever seen.

And this is what Jesus means, I think, in this very passage when he says, "Love your enemy." And it’s significant that he does not say, "Like your enemy." Like is a sentimental something, an affectionate something. There are a lot of people that I find it difficult to like. I don’t like what they do to me. I don’t like what they say about me and other people. I don’t like their attitudes. I don’t like some of the things they’re doing. I don’t like them. But Jesus says love them. And love is greater than like. Love is understanding, redemptive goodwill for all men, so that you love everybody, because God loves them. You refuse to do anything that will defeat an individual, because you have agape in your soul. And here you come to the point that you love the individual who does the evil deed, while hating the deed that the person does. This is what Jesus means when he says, "Love your enemy." This is the way to do it. When the opportunity presents itself when you can defeat your enemy, you must not do it.

Now for the few moments left, let us move from the practical how to the theoretical why. It’s not only necessary to know how to go about loving your enemies, but also to go down into the question of why we should love our enemies. I think the first reason that we should love our enemies, and I think this was at the very center of Jesus’ thinking, is this: that hate for hate only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. If I hit you and you hit me and I hit you back and you hit me back and go on, you see, that goes on ad infinitum. [tapping on pulpit] It just never ends. Somewhere somebody must have a little sense, and that’s the strong person. The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate, the chain of evil. And that is the tragedy of hate, that it doesn’t cut it off. It only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. Somebody must have religion enough and morality enough to cut it off and inject within the very structure of the universe that strong and powerful element of love.

I think I mentioned before that sometime ago my brother and I were driving one evening to Chattanooga, Tennessee, from Atlanta. He was driving the car. And for some reason the drivers were very discourteous that night. They didn’t dim their lights; hardly any driver that passed by dimmed his lights. And I remember very vividly, my brother A. D. looked over and in a tone of anger said: "I know what I’m going to do. The next car that comes along here and refuses to dim the lights, I’m going to fail to dim mine and pour them on in all of their power." And I looked at him right quick and said: "Oh no, don’t do that. There’d be too much light on this highway, and it will end up in mutual destruction for all. Somebody got to have some sense on this highway."

Somebody must have sense enough to dim the lights, and that is the trouble, isn’t it? That as all of the civilizations of the world move up the highway of history, so many civilizations, having looked at other civilizations that refused to dim the lights, and they decided to refuse to dim theirs. And Toynbee tells that out of the twenty-two civilizations that have risen up, all but about seven have found themselves in the junkheap of destruction. It is because civilizations fail to have sense enough to dim the lights. And if somebody doesn’t have sense enough to turn on the dim and beautiful and powerful lights of love in this world, the whole of our civilization will be plunged into the abyss of destruction. And we will all end up destroyed because nobody had any sense on the highway of history. Somewhere somebody must have some sense. Men must see that force begets force, hate begets hate, toughness begets toughness. And it is all a descending spiral, ultimately ending in destruction for all and everybody. Somebody must have sense enough and morality enough to cut off the chain of hate and the chain of evil in the universe. And you do that by love.

There’s another reason why you should love your enemies, and that is because hate distorts the personality of the hater. We usually think of what hate does for the individual hated or the individuals hated or the groups hated. But it is even more tragic, it is even more ruinous and injurious to the individual who hates. You just begin hating somebody, and you will begin to do irrational things. You can’t see straight when you hate. You can’t walk straight when you hate. You can’t stand upright. Your vision is distorted. There is nothing more tragic than to see an individual whose heart is filled with hate. He comes to the point that he becomes a pathological case. For the person who hates, you can stand up and see a person and that person can be beautiful, and you will call them ugly. For the person who hates, the beautiful becomes ugly and the ugly becomes beautiful. For the person who hates, the good becomes bad and the bad becomes good. For the person who hates, the true becomes false and the false becomes true. That’s what hate does. You can’t see right. The symbol of objectivity is lost. Hate destroys the very structure of the personality of the hater. And this is why Jesus says hate [recording interrupted]

. . . that you want to be integrated with yourself, and the way to be integrated with yourself is be sure that you meet every situation of life with an abounding love. Never hate, because it ends up in tragic, neurotic responses. Psychologists and psychiatrists are telling us today that the more we hate, the more we develop guilt feelings and we begin to subconsciously repress or consciously suppress certain emotions, and they all stack up in our subconscious selves and make for tragic, neurotic responses. And may this not be the neuroses of many individuals as they confront life that that is an element of hate there. And modern psychology is calling on us now to love. But long before modern psychology came into being, the world’s greatest psychologist who walked around the hills of Galilee told us to love. He looked at men and said: "Love your enemies; don’t hate anybody." It’s not enough for us to hate your friends because—to to love your friends—because when you start hating anybody, it destroys the very center of your creative response to life and the universe; so love everybody. Hate at any point is a cancer that gnaws away at the very vital center of your life and your existence. It is like eroding acid that eats away the best and the objective center of your life. So Jesus says love, because hate destroys the hater as well as the hated.

Now there is a final reason I think that Jesus says, "Love your enemies." It is this: that love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. That’s why Jesus says, "Love your enemies." Because if you hate your enemies, you have no way to redeem and to transform your enemies. But if you love your enemies, you will discover that at the very root of love is the power of redemption. You just keep loving people and keep loving them, even though they’re mistreating you. Here’s the person who is a neighbor, and this person is doing something wrong to you and all of that. Just keep being friendly to that person. Keep loving them. Don’t do anything to embarrass them. Just keep loving them, and they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with bitterness because they’re mad because you love them like that. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive, and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears down and is destructive. So love your enemies.

I think of one of the best examples of this. We all remember the great president of this United States, Abraham Lincoln—these United States rather. You remember when Abraham Lincoln was running for president of the United States, there was a man who ran all around the country talking about Lincoln. He said a lot of bad things about Lincoln, a lot of unkind things. And sometimes he would get to the point that he would even talk about his looks, saying, "You don’t want a tall, lanky, ignorant man like this as the president of the United States." He went on and on and on and went around with that type of attitude and wrote about it. Finally, one day Abraham Lincoln was elected president of the United States. And if you read the great biography of Lincoln, if you read the great works about him, you will discover that as every president comes to the point, he came to the point of having to choose a Cabinet. And then came the time for him to choose a Secretary of War. He looked across the nation, and decided to choose a man by the name of Mr. Stanton. And when Abraham Lincoln stood around his advisors and mentioned this fact, they said to him: "Mr. Lincoln, are you a fool? Do you know what Mr. Stanton has been saying about you? Do you know what he has done, tried to do to you? Do you know that he has tried to defeat you on every hand? Do you know that, Mr. Lincoln? Did you read all of those derogatory statements that he made about you?" Abraham Lincoln stood before the advisors around him and said: "Oh yes, I know about it; I read about it; I’ve heard him myself. But after looking over the country, I find that he is the best man for the job."

Mr. Stanton did become Secretary of War, and a few months later, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. And if you go to Washington, you will discover that one of the greatest words or statements ever made by, about Abraham Lincoln was made about this man Stanton. And as Abraham Lincoln came to the end of his life, Stanton stood up and said: "Now he belongs to the ages." And he made a beautiful statement concerning the character and the stature of this man. If Abraham Lincoln had hated Stanton, if Abraham Lincoln had answered everything Stanton said, Abraham Lincoln would have not transformed and redeemed Stanton. Stanton would have gone to his grave hating Lincoln, and Lincoln would have gone to his grave hating Stanton. But through the power of love Abraham Lincoln was able to redeem Stanton.

That’s it. There is a power in love that our world has not discovered yet. Jesus discovered it centuries ago. Mahatma Gandhi of India discovered it a few years ago, but most men and most women never discover it. For they believe in hitting for hitting; they believe in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; they believe in hating for hating; but Jesus comes to us and says, "This isn’t the way."

And oh this morning, as I think of the fact that our world is in transition now. Our whole world is facing a revolution. Our nation is facing a revolution, our nation. One of the things that concerns me most is that in the midst of the revolution of the world and the midst of the revolution of this nation, that we will discover the meaning of Jesus’ words.

History unfortunately leaves some people oppressed and some people oppressors. And there are three ways that individuals who are oppressed can deal with their oppression. One of them is to rise up against their oppressors with physical violence and corroding hatred. But oh this isn’t the way. For the danger and the weakness of this method is its futility. Violence creates many more social problems than it solves. And I’ve said, in so many instances, that as the Negro, in particular, and colored peoples all over the world struggle for freedom, if they succumb to the temptation of using violence in their struggle, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and our chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos. Violence isn’t the way.

Another way is to acquiesce and to give in, to resign yourself to the oppression. Some people do that. They discover the difficulties of the wilderness moving into the promised land, and they would rather go back to the despots of Egypt because it’s difficult to get in the promised land. And so they resign themselves to the fate of oppression; they somehow acquiesce to this thing. But that too isn’t the way because non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good.

But there is another way. And that is to organize mass non-violent resistance based on the principle of love. It seems to me that this is the only way as our eyes look to the future. As we look out across the years and across the generations, let us develop and move right here. We must discover the power of love, the power, the redemptive power of love. And when we discover that we will be able to make of this old world a new world. We will be able to make men better. Love is the only way. Jesus discovered that.

Not only did Jesus discover it, even great military leaders discover that. One day as Napoleon came toward the end of his career and looked back across the years—the great Napoleon that at a very early age had all but conquered the world. He was not stopped until he became, till he moved out to the battle of Leipzig and then to Waterloo. But that same Napoleon one day stood back and looked across the years, and said: "Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I have built great empires. But upon what did they depend? They depended upon force. But long ago Jesus started an empire that depended on love, and even to this day millions will die for him."

Yes, I can see Jesus walking around the hills and the valleys of Palestine. And I can see him looking out at the Roman Empire with all of her fascinating and intricate military machinery. But in the midst of that, I can hear him saying: "I will not use this method. Neither will I hate the Roman Empire." [Radio Announcer:] (WRMA, Montgomery, Alabama. Due to the fact of the delay this morning, we are going over with the sermon.) [several words inaudible] . . . and just start marching.

And I’m proud to stand here in Dexter this morning and say that that army is still marching. It grew up from a group of eleven or twelve men to more than seven hundred million today. Because of the power and influence of the personality of this Christ, he was able to split history into a.d. and b.c. Because of his power, he was able to shake the hinges from the gates of the Roman Empire. And all around the world this morning, we can hear the glad echo of heaven ring:

Jesus shall reign wherever sun,

Does his successive journeys run;

His kingdom spreads from shore to shore,

Till moon shall wane and wax no more.

We can hear another chorus singing: "All hail the power of Jesus name!"

We can hear another chorus singing: "Hallelujah, hallelujah! He’s King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Hallelujah, hallelujah!"

We can hear another choir singing:

In Christ there is no East or West.

In Him no North or South,

But one great Fellowship of Love

Throughout the whole wide world.

This is the only way.

And our civilization must discover that. Individuals must discover that as they deal with other individuals. There is a little tree planted on a little hill and on that tree hangs the most influential character that ever came in this world. But never feel that that tree is a meaningless drama that took place on the stages of history. Oh no, it is a telescope through which we look out into the long vista of eternity, and see the love of God breaking forth into time. It is an eternal reminder to a power-drunk generation that love is the only way. It is an eternal reminder to a generation depending on nuclear and atomic energy, a generation depending on physical violence, that love is the only creative, redemptive, transforming power in the universe.

So this morning, as I look into your eyes, and into the eyes of all of my brothers in Alabama and all over America and over the world, I say to you, "I love you. I would rather die than hate you." And I’m foolish enough to believe that through the power of this love somewhere, men of the most recalcitrant bent will be transformed. And then we will be in God’s kingdom. We will be able to matriculate into the university of eternal life because we had the power to love our enemies, to bless those persons that cursed us, to even decide to be good to those persons who hated us, and we even prayed for those persons who despitefully used us.

Oh God, help us in our lives and in all of our attitudes, to work out this controlling force of love, this controlling power that can solve every problem that we confront in all areas. Oh, we talk about politics; we talk about the problems facing our atomic civilization. Grant that all men will come together and discover that as we solve the crisis and solve these problems—the international problems, the problems of atomic energy, the problems of nuclear energy, and yes, even the race problem—let us join together in a great fellowship of love and bow down at the feet of Jesus. Give us this strong determination. In the name and spirit of this Christ, we pray. Amen.

[where-ls-my-mlnd]

“Alright, but don’t forget your own advice. That’s your third one in as equally many minutes. It’s only 10, remember?” Ah, you jest? Alright...alright, touchè, J. Touchè. I remember the time, I just don’t care. I’d still be drinking if it was ten in the fucking morning right now. I couldn’t care less about the time for me, I only care about the time for him, which...yeah, that makes very little sense. Fucking teens, man. I forgot how sensitive they are to hypocrisy. Fair enough, though. Fair enough. I appreciate the concern, even if it was clothed in dry humor. It’s sweet. He looks out for me, J. He does. Even though it’s supposed to be the other way around. When the sound of his voice fills my head again, I lift my head up, eyes growing wide again in some terrible mix of anticipation and worry. He’s holding a shot, away from his face, like I taught him, telling me how he wants to set the record straight and try again— for good luck, even if the only luck it brings him is a calm and settled stomach. At the sight of him closing his eyes and bringing the glass closer to his lips, I draw a deep breath in along with him, only I never breathe out again, I keep holding it, because god, this is making me fucking nervous, and I just - I don’t want him to hurt himself, I want him to really remember what I taught him, I want him to do it right... And he does. He tilts his head back, not all the way, just a little, and swallows the tequila down smoothly. A burst of air rushes out of him as he sets the empty shot glass down, wipes his mouth, and mutters, “Shit.” Yeah. Yeah, it is shit, isn’t it? I can’t help but chuckle a little at that, my small, amused grin growing into a full-blown, oddly proud smile. He fucking did it. He did it right. He did it safely. He fucking did it, and I fucking taught him how, and now he’ll never run the risk of launching himself off his stool or choking on sickening fumes ever again because he has that knowledge now. God, I don’t know what the fuck...I don’t know why this is making me feel this way. I’m just proud, that’s all. A small achievement is still an achievement. There’s nothing that ain’t worth celebrating, especially on a fucking fantastic night like this. Why shouldn’t we be celebratory? We should be. J should be...he better be. I’m gonna make him celebrate himself, today and every day. Everyone should have a person encouraging them to do that. “Okay, that was…better. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like it by any stretch, but uh…that’s ultimately more of my own alcohol bias than anything against tequila specifically.” He begins to share with me his review of the tequila— formal as hell, naturally, and full of tiny, but illuminating details I had not previously known, slipped in there so covertly and so casually. Like how he pretty much hates the taste of alcohol, which makes me think, good, keep it that way. And how he’s never drank before — which I knew, it was alarmingly obvious — but never anticipated him to explicitly tell me. He seems to feel no shame about it, owning his small mistake and explaining that he hadn’t known there was a specific way to take a shot. It’s honest and open in a way that I’m not used to from him. He’s relaxed as he speaks about his abstinence from alcohol, almost as if it’s a conscious decision, something he truly has no interest in. And that fills me with an inexplicable happiness, but also an inexplicable sorrow. A deep sorrow — dark, torturously gradual, like my heart is slowly falling down the cavity of my chest and into the pit of my stomach. The sensation is fucking scary, and I feel briefly helpless, because he’s not close to me like that, I can’t protect him the way I want to. I can’t stop him from going back on that decision and turning reckless like me. And god— god, I want to. I want to grab his shoulders and look him dead in the eyes and say, hold onto that abstinence for as long as you can, okay? Don’t start trying random substances just for the “experience”, and don’t ever get into the habit of using drugs to regulate your emotions, because you very quickly won’t be able to without them. Don’t be like me. Don’t be fucking stupid. Never let anyone make you feel less than because you don’t drink or do drugs. Never let anyone force their definition of “fun” upon you, never let anyone shame you, and never let anyone tell you what you should and should not be doing. If you want to stay out of that scene, stay out of that scene. If you want to dabble in it— I don’t recommend it, but I’ll be there to help you do so carefully if you need. Whatever you do, please, do not be like me. But I can’t say that to him, because it’s not my place, and knowing teenagers, it would likely only drive him to rebel, despite never feeling such an urge before. Oh, how I long to, though. It’s so devastatingly relevant, even today. It seems that the more time goes by, the more drugs become normalized. Fuck if I know why. I don’t mean to sound like a clichèd PSA but drugs aren’t fucking cool. They have never been cool, and they never will be cool. If I could only undo one event in my entire life, I would undo the night of my sixteenth birthday. My life could have been so different. If I had known how not fucking worth it drugs would turn out to be — I never would have tried them in the first place. I’ve spent so much of my life bitter and resentful because of terrible choices I made. I don’t want J to subject himself to the same poison. It’s not a lie when people say that drug-induced happiness is temporary. Purely fucking ephemeral is what that shit is. A few hours of bliss repeated over and over at rapidly decreasing intensity throughout the day traded for a lifetime of enslavement. Is a few bursts of euphoria worth the never-ending negative side effects, the unbearable stress it puts your body under, the torment it puts your mind through? I understand craving peace of mind more than anything else in the world. But drugs can never truly give you that. It’s only an illusion meant to lure you in, the honeymoon phase before the abuse starts back up again. To look to drugs for contentment is to worship a false God. But hey, this is coming from a guy who’s on the road to becoming shit-faced and is almost four shots of tequila in. I wouldn’t take me too seriously either. That’s why I ain’t gonna say none of this to J. “I wasn’t aware that there was a proper method of execution that eliminates the godawful smells and it really helped me there. I wish I’d known it before I knocked myself on my ass with that first shot ‘cause fuck…I’m still nauseated from it, but hey, you taught me and now I know how so…thanks for that, man. I appreciate it.” Oh. Oh, kid, that’s so... I really do lay my hand over my heart then, smiling in the syrupy way I had tried not to before, and as I look at this kid, this sweet, sharp, insightful, caring, great kid...I realize something. Something that I should have realized from the start. He’s not James Dean at all. He’s not some aloof, caustic, leather jacket wearing guy who speeds off on his motorcycle in the night after snorting a couple lines with some gorgeous women. That ain’t even who the real James Dean was, it’s just the weird fantasy of him I’ve been toting around all these years ‘cause bad boys make me harder than a fucking math equation. No, if anything, J is the character that James Dean played in Rebel Without A Cause. J is Jim Stark. That’s exactly who he is. Because before you watch Rebel Without A Cause, you likely believe that Jim really is that timeless vision of a badass, that smart-mouthed asshole who doesn’t care about anyone and is curiously regarded as cool for it. But when you actually watch the film, you realize that belief could not be more false. Jim is an angsty teen, sure, but he doesn’t take it out on anyone. In fact, he directs his grief and anger and hatred inward, lets it all build up inside of himself because he doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words and he’s too scared to try. Jim is a fucking sweetheart, openly pacifistic, adamantly refuses to let himself be overcome by the mean-spirited energy of the kids at his school. He does nothing to hurt anyone because he doesn’t even have anyone in the first place. He’s alone, isolated, he fits in nowhere and aches to belong everywhere. He’s conflicted all the time, he doesn’t know how to do the right thing or what the right thing even is. Still, he has that desire to be good, he is good, he’s the purest character in the film besides Plato. Jim Stark is not the cool guy. He’s the loner that the cool guys pick on. And while I hope and pray to God that nobody picks on J, I know that he embodies Jim Stark’s essence. Deceptively cool — in all actuality, a total softie. I’d feel more guilty for misreading him if I weren’t currently overtaken by sentimentality. “Aw, J. It ain’t no thing. I just want you to be safe and what not,” I say. “And hey, you fucking did it! You got it that time! That was good, J! Aw...baby’s first drink!” He laughs at that, genuinely fucking laughs, a big smile blossoming on his face, as bright as the strobe lights that flash in my vision. It’s such a sudden, unusual display of happiness that I almost want to fucking tear up, but I don’t; instead I return his grin, if not surpass it in terms of size.   “Aww, look at you smiling, J...you think I’m pretty alright, don’t you? Yeah, you do! You do, I can see it...aw, do you like me, J? Do you wanna be friends?” And then, the most shocking thing that could ever possibly happen does. He says, “Sure.” Like it was never something he had to give a second thought. Like it’s easy for him, easy to say yes. He gives me a little laugh,  along with his friendship, and oh my god, I’ve been longing for this for so long that it feels like a dream, a mirage, a result of drunk distortion. But it’s not. Reality is not warped, this is not a haze, I’m not even fucking drunk. This is as real as it fucking gets. J is not the type of guy who would ever bullshit you. He wants to be my friend. He said so. He said sure. Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck. Excitement rises in my chest then. I feel giddy, bubbly, like a teenager. It’s uncontrollable, the sheer elation that seizes me. I’d try to contain it but it’s too powerful; I can only blink dazedly and stare at him, smiling out the eyes, aglow with joy. “Okay,” I say dumbly, still utterly stupefied as I laugh a little. “W-we’re friends.”

[presta-hero]

Essay for Love: Ancient Approach

I provides my grandma and grandpa that I would adhere to them for a few years in the summer months, after a finish my school term. When providing love description, we find the item appropriate to turn to an explanatory dictionary. For modern absolutely love essays, they give us distressing warnings.

The philosophical and anthropological problem of love emerged previously, in olden days. So , here I am, moving along an old time graveled roads, breathing in fresh new rural atmosphere and looking forward to meeting my favorite dear relatives. A concept that every other love is because love on the way to yourself will start gaining popularity. In this property, a hundred stretches from the location I live life, I ultimately feel at home.

The philosophy of love has been seen diversely in every amount of human progress, depending on important and national environment. Many works about appreciate point out that an individuality appeared to be considered as a part of society back then, that is why man or women interests were definitely strongly bound to public products.

The final objective of love would gain growing old either by simply worshipping Aphrodite Pandemos in addition to giving birth to help children as well as by worshipping Aphrodite Urania and learning intellectual function. Nonetheless , classical longevity brings precisely this know-how about love.

We advise one more plan of distinction, which is while using specifics of any relationship concerning two subjects: My grandpa and grandma break into joy, and I come closer to these to embrace my favorite nearest men and women. What is more necessary, love adjusted its route from a specific person to the whole humanity. I can find out their house on the distance.

Renaissance leaves together each of the previous experiences and gives beginning to numerous treatises, in which humanism occupies the most important place, even while love is actually a simple people feeling. Most likely this is the most fascinating and common subjects while in the history with philosophy. PurEssay offers exclusively quality authoring from professionals in this field.

I will really need to remind the grandparents again to change the place where they keep the key. I am unable to tell you precisely how proud my grandparents are generally of their family home. Now it is time to go into and to interact with my grandmother and grandfather. There exist a lot of parts of view towards the moment as soon as love very first appeared.

To be a human developed psychologically, absolutely love acquired completely new complicated options and got innovative forms and the theoretic examination. This can be a two-storied, regal building cloaked in a distinctive atmosphere within the previous one hundred year. I just enter a significant living room, urgentessay.net just where my horrific lies on a sofa, browsing his classifieds, and the grandmother rich waters her property plants.

Through earliest period, human feelings were mainly connected with intuition, and like was not a definite phenomenon. At the same time, they find a way to take care of your garden: a beautiful spot, full of fragrant flowers in addition to branchy forest that forged their dark areas on wood made benches. I like this how the place stays neat in summers, resembling an authentic heaven on the planet in the world of hellish heat.

My great-grandfather built this for her family a lot of decades before, and he would you think his employment conscientiously. Selfish relative person won’t acknowledge the value of the other and is eager to accomplish only his or her own needs. Take a look at first of all try to classify all of our understanding of like and find out what kinds it you can easily name.

Web site approach deeper, I can previously make out smart windows, coloured in white. While our grandparents loaf on the job for a while inside or maybe work not in the patio, the dog whenever manages to greet my family before them. Then he acknowledges me, my dear Oscar, and gets going wagging its tail, going towards all of us. Ancient Greeks’ first consideration was studying the world, in support of after that installed childbirth.

Oscar is actually the first one to fulfill me in this article. Really, no matter what hot here this time in the year. Really like originated due to socialization about instincts: intuition of self-preservation, which in such a way united people, and reproductive : instinct, combined with maternal sensations, which established certain sentimental closeness.

Any middle ages essay regarding love declares that enjoy towards The almighty is the exclusively true love, although chastity could be the only advantage. Almost every thinker one or more times tried to define or discuss love. Essay for Love: Ancient Approach

In that essay at love, PurEssay team will tell you how the perception of this thought evolved after a while. Unpretentious love the motivation to give up your own interests for the sake of your loved one. I fiddle together with heavy hair, soft and even pleasant to the touch; however , I find myself pity with the creature that must be suffering from tremendous heat less than this membrane of fashion.

Seeing that women were not fit meant for philosophy, relationship only preoccupied their partners from believing. In addition to Desire, there were a tad bit more gods of love in Artistic mythology exactly who played essential roles additionally. The origin of love presents a very disputable subject. This type of enjoy is ideal since it leads to balance and a normal state connected with human internal.

The house seems fabulous and unreal, as though it steered clear of from a fairy story and tried to get misplaced among different houses on the village yet failed. Of course, she has a great deal of them, the two inside and out of doors. The love in between, which usually presents often the golden imply, implying in which both people today present same value in a very relationship and tend to be eager to survive for each additional.

This matter is still topical even in the modern world, and now you will get to it. Foundation of love has got several ways to classifying idea. Our creating company finds it necessary to seek out some info in the tradition of early Greece. This process is usually indefinite for the reason that human trend still keeps going.

Your backyard is clean, only a floral population raise most of their buds into the sun, and also to the stones, as if looking for life-giving elements. I can odour freshly manufactured pastry someplace in the kitchen, along with a warm feeling of coziness covers my coronary heart. Physical violence and by simply seem to suppress love in the modern tradition.

But 2 men could achieve far more together, purpose Aristotle assumed that enjoy was comparable to friendship. Whenever i enter the front side gate, your pet dog looks at all of us suspiciously as well as barks once or twice. It truly is one often the presents of which my grandfather prepared personally when I had been little. Each epoch had their philosophers, research psychologists, sociologists together with other scientific brains who anxious themselves using love.

When i deeply inhale local atmosphere, and I stench a hint with flowers, quite possibly, my grandmother’s asters, nevertheless they may as well be any other think about because Me not very good during them. Love is put into the low, impolite Aphrodite Pandemos and the incredible Aphrodite Urania. Neo-Platonism develops, very, with its fans relying on Plato’s theories.

After I invest some time with the canine, I look into it for this grandparents, still I cannot find them any where outside. Industrial population is focused at consumerism; large production and even new technological know-how lead to a far more rationalized way of life. But only attitude could predetermine what kind of enjoy it was. Modern day lexicographers clarify love being a feeling of passion, but also because attraction this provokes sexual desire.

These kinds of prognoses will be dangerous to our society given that mechanized romances between people speak of inhumanity. This destination gets cozier every year. I wide open a heavy oak door along with a little crucial hidden below the welcome f?da. Some analysts believe that innovations in love would be rational together with deprived with emotions.

That is why many countries assist organizations and even movements of which promote standard family valuations. Our services make your school life simple and easy productive. The item depended on readers’ values, sociable patterns, perception of themselves and various other human beings.

This type of concepts like sympathy, benevolence and likely-hood became topical oils and element of that period. As I the actual building, the atmosphere around myself becomes awesome, and I like feeling precisely how my body relax down, as well. The v?ldigt bra Eros appears on phase; he is a strong unpredictable and even demanding the almighty, who evokes fear on other people perhaps even other gods.

Some people for their essays regarding love recommend dividing that into increased and decreased. In our short go about appreciate, we will keep to the opinion which love sprang out together with people because a people always expected communication plus close romances with very much the same beings. In the event ancient Greeks followed the principle of beauty, medieval modern society switched to principle for morality.

So , here, PurEssay provided the definition of love, enumerated it has the main models and explained to you what sort of notion of affection has evolved eventually. Later this attitude fades away, and the great start having interested in their very own feelings together with psychological factors. What I can tell for certain is that the stench is simply terrific, even though hardly ever perceptible.

These cases give agricultural soil towards the so-called purchaser love, as their characteristic characteristics are limited by low erectile culture and also lack of meekness. When it comes to Christianity, it gravely condemns human relationships outside photographer and care for corporal pastimes as low in addition to sinful. Our writers can create a identical essay in your academic demands or to create a work on a certain topic.

In Old love totally conformed that will religion. I am excited as always because immediately I am heading to my grandparents’ country bachelor’s pad. Other researchers single out unique variations of love, subject to its recipient: sexual like, paternal really enjoy, patriotic enjoy, love regarding God etc . The house is dealt with with a thick layer of light blue coloration that was clearly more saturated a year ago, still has disappeared due to the very hot sun with this territory.

My spouse and i still really like swinging there with a reserve in my present, pretending which drift off and then rise in remote countries. A single tree possibly even has a hand-made swing hanging from it. People start expressing out this emotion among ordre and even will fear it all.

It results emergence of lyric finery, which results in being the leading branch of poetry. The grandparents are generally constantly perfecting changing the interior of the house.

The post Essay for Love: Ancient Approach appeared first on Presta Hero.

[selfawarenessawareness-blog]

Nous Sommes Si Seuls Dans Ce Quartier

There was always a bit of darkness to Sydney. It was hard to miss, I suppose. He could be really withdrawn sometimes. You’d be sitting with him, at a bar or pizza place or something and everything would be just fine. But then, he would get this very far away look in his eyes and just sort of, I don’t know—drift off. He would snap out of it eventually, after a few minutes or so. The first couple times he did that, I’d ask him what was wrong, but he’d just smile at me, this perfect smile of wildly imperfect teeth and tell me it was nothing and I shouldn’t mind him.

At first, I thought it must have been something I did or said. God, he could get you so anxious by doing nothing at all. It always seemed like there’d be a day that he’d just sort of drift away. He always stuck around though.

That darkness he had though, it was quite appealing, really. At least to me. Maybe that sounds crass, but I don’t think it ought to be, and I certainly don’t mean it in a crass sort of way, at all.

I wish we could be telling this story together. He wasn’t a great storyteller. His stories meandered, never quite getting to the point. Sometimes he’d begin telling a story and by the end I wouldn’t have a clue how we’d landed at that point. He was really insightful though, he saw things that most people ignore. People often say things like that to describe some bon vivant or something, but that’s not quite what Sydney was. It wasn’t that he loved life, he just had a clearer picture of what life is than most people do, I think. Maybe I’m wrong. I read Plato’s Socratic dialogues once, and that old Socrates seemed to get people, too. Maybe lots of people are pretty insightful, it’s really hard to say. Most people, though, if you take a look at them you sort of get the impression that they’re a bit of a moron, like this guy I once took picture of on the train—I took the picture to send to Sydney, actually. He had like this very shiny looking suit on. He was trying to be very suave as hell and all, but he just looked like a moron, you know? He was doing this terrible thing to—first he was posing, which is a very lousy thing to do. He seemed to want people to be taking pictures of him. But also, he was standing in a way that his butt was mere inches from this guy that was sitting down, his face. It’s a very crummy thing to do. I’m sure he thought he was very insightful though. If for example, you’d gone up to him on that train—or wherever the hell he was going, who knows where that could be—and told him you were having problems with your girlfriend or your husband or something, he probably wouldn’t have even asked for any details, he’d just give this very stupid answer.

“A lifetime sure seems like quite the daunting undertaking, doesn’t it, Hol?” That’s the last thing Sydney ever texted me. It was maybe vaguely insightful, but it lacked the humor and originality that I’d come to expect from him. His last text should have been something like, “Jesus Christ, did you ever figure out your real bra size?” Or, “I’m going to be reincarnated as someone that sings show tunes when they walk down the street, won’t I?” But he died without saying any of that. He would have said something even better though.

I still have our texts on my phone, even though it’s been a year. I have to scroll through dozens of conversations now though to reach the conversation we had daily for three months. Our conversation was always one of the first in my messages, and now its not. I got a new phone a few months after he died and I asked the Apple store guy three times if he was positive iMessage conversations would transfer to the new phone.

I still talk to him sometimes, sort of. Even if I don’t think about him, sometimes I think of things I want to tell him. I’ll text him. Twenty minutes later I’ll get a notification saying the message failed to send. Sometimes I’ll just pretend it’s him trying to be funny. He rarely made me laugh out loud, but he was always funny. Bitter. World-weary. He had short black hair and mossy green eyes.

Sydney killed himself. I kind of knew it would happen sooner or later. He hinted at it at least a dozen times. I did ask him not to, but he’d gone off and done it anyhow.

The worst part was—nobody seemed to care. People said he had seemed to make me depressed and anxious. They said I’d become emaciated and withdrawn. I always look so tired when he was alive, people would say. Nobody had the nerve to say, it was for the best but they all seemed to think so.

Now that he’s dead, nobody wants to hear about him anymore. He didn’t have many friends, besides me, at least for the time I knew him. Even his family has put him behind them now. His funeral was really more for show, a chore they had to complete before they could move on. His younger relatives all thought he’d put them through hell and now it was time to move on. His older relatives all shared that sentiment, while also pointing out that he was now in hell. Once he was underground he was Out of Sight, Out of Mind, as they say.

It’s been a year now and I still think about him all of the time. I would be lying to you if I said I hadn’t often thought of just joining him, wherever he is now. It’s May, New York is vibrant. God that’s a word and an atmosphere that I really hate. The moment spring rolls around the only thing I’m excited about is for winter to come again. It’s almost Fleet Week, which will mark exactly one year since we buried him. On my way to the funeral, I’d been stopped by three sailors to ask if we were near the Natural History Museum. We weren’t — we were on the East Side and the Natural History Museum is on the West Side. They’d have to cross Central Park to get there. I told them that there was definitely a crosstown bus stop somewhere, but I didn’t know where exactly. I hate busses, I never take them. When I do, it’s always either a bus with a door that you have to push super hard to open and you practically fall out once you do, or it’s one with a weak hinge that opens with the slightest push, and, yeah you practically fall out of that one too.

My little sister, Francine, got me this really nice notebook for Christmas. It took me five months to start using it. It’s such a nice, clean notebook and my handwriting is so lousy, I didn’t want to ruin its crispness. But, I need to talk about Sydney, and these pages seem inviting.

I have a nasty habit. I’m a writer, see—strictly a dilettante though, you won’t find me in any particularly notable journals or magazines. I have a really depressing habit of falling into puppy-eyed love with the characters I create—and then I’m entirely unable to let anything bad happen to them. I can’t even make them slightly ill without agonizing about it. Sydney was the only person who ever read my fiction. He said it was “too saccharine.” He thought I wasn’t thoughtful enough to write something meaningful. I think he was right, but I think I changed once I met him. I told him that once and he absolutely hated hearing it. He said that the only things worth reading were written for God, not for simple human consumption. He also thought he was an inadequate human, so writing for him was particularly blasphemous. He may be right about how we ought to write for god, but he was wrong about the inadequate human part. He was an extraordinary person, a superlative human. And I think I’m the reason he’s dead. I always was clinging to his words, I guess you could say, but I don’t think I ever really listened to him. And now he’s dead.

I’m not a particularly religious person, but I rather like God. My father is Jewish and my mother is Catholic. Dad’s not particularly devout, but mom sort of is. I was baptized Catholic and confirmed, all of that stuff. If I ever get married, which seems doubtful, I’d probably get married in a church. Sydney was the same unusual mix of Jewish and Catholic, not that it matters but it always does seem to matter a bit.

In college, we’d always have these late night discussions about the meaning of life and all that stuff. There was this guy, Jerome Castor, he had a pretty good argument for why God didn’t exist, well rather that God was dead—that was the phrase he was always using. I don’t remember the exact reasoning he gave, but it was something to do with the Enlightenment, I think. Jerome studied philosophy, so he knew lots of great quotes that maybe he used out of context, but none of us knew any better. There was this one guy, Steve Bick, who was very Catholic. He would always argue with Castor, but Castor always said, “You buy what the Catholic Church is selling? Those perverts?,” whenever Bick would back him into a rhetorical corner. But Bick was a bit goony looking, so nobody ever really took his arguments seriously.

Sydney was the first person to really get me to give God a second look. He didn’t go with the usual argument, stuff about the beauty of sunrises and stuff, he didn’t try to prove his existence. He just said that you can’t try and do things for other people because other people are an ephemeral part of our life. You can’t do things for yourself because humanity has agreed that selfishness is wrong. So—you do things for God, the you know your doing things for the right reasons. So, if you’re going to make anything, you really need to at least believe in God. He hated writers of the modern era. He thought book tours and publishers and the whole lot was the secularization of a particularly spiritual craft. He thought the best writers in the world are the ones whose words are never seen. He made an exception for Emily Dickinson.

I spent about three months telling everyone I was going to write the story of Sydney before I actually sat down and started it. The characters in this story hate the idea of being identified by at least a very small subset of the world’s readers that may someday read this. I offered to use fake names for those that resent anyone attempting to immortalize them in print, but my mother, who spent some time in the public eye in the 1980’s resents that he’s even mentioned and pointed out that a pseudonym would do her no good.

Some of the sentiments come from the same sentiments that people felt when Sydney died. The belief among that cohort is that I would be much better moving on with my life, in effect, letting the whole thing drop, dead boys be damned.

Others have attempted to suppress my story for the good of the community. My sister—a successful psychologist operating out of a strip mall in Buffalo, New York has informed me that American readers don’t desire what I have to offer. “If it’s not mystery or thriller the public will not buy it,” she said cooly while balancing one of her auburn haired, two year old twins on her lap. I told her that new mothers may crave escapism but they do not reflect the general public. She quickly assumed the air of moral authority that anyone who has a child takes with anyone that does not have a child and told me that most Americans work very hard and yes, do crave escapism. In effect, she is not the outlier, I am.

I’ll concede that he may have a point, I suppose. This is the story of my dead friend.

[republicstandard]

The Rot in Academia

“Unlimited tolerance is a paradox. We don’t have to tolerate the intolerant.”-Lindsay Briggs

The hostility toward the notion of individual liberty and freedom of speech is evident everywhere you look these days, perhaps no more apparently than on college campuses. With alarming regularity, from moral panics to “anti-fascist” riots to professors with ties to ISIS, it has been incident after incident illustrating how deeply corrupted academia has become. From the lunacy of a Vanderbilt professor blaming 9/11 on racism, slavery, and the Navajo genocide to a Diablo Valley College professor smashing someone’s head with a bike lock, the modern academy—with its Cult-Marx professoriate, bloated bureaucracies that ensure “compliance” with the ruthless efficiency of the NKVD, and SJW student-activists—is no longer the bastion of open inquiry and debate it was intended to be. George Waldner, president emeritus of York College, stated:

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In the last five years, we’ve certainly had an increasing number of free speech confrontations on many campuses across the country. Halloween costumes at Yale, the ‘Trump’ chalkings at Emory University …There have probably been 30 or 40 of these [incidents] in the last five years.

“All I want for Christmas is white genocide.” ~George Ciccarillo-Maher

I would venture it’s been many more than that, especially if you include the on-campus hate crime hoaxes. A university education looks ever-more like a combination of a Soviet re-education camp and a day-care. The student body seems to be regressing to a median age of about five, Marx’s dictums spoon-fed to them by doughy professional axe-grinders, agitators, and grievance-mongers. If sticks and stones break their bones, then words are what really hurt. As Jim Goad wrote in The Redneck Manifesto:

HATE SPEECH is the most Orwellian concept to emerge from the twentieth-century twilight. It is especially deceptive because it hides behind a Happy Face mask. Most people want to be on the side of love, right? Like all dangerous ideas, the notion of hate speech sounds good until dismantled piece by piece. The first problem is with the term’s vagueness. Hate speech, apparently, has become anything they hate. Through relentless exposure to well-meaning, soft-suds imagery, otherwise intelligent people have been brainwashed to believe that “hate” is a satisfactory explanation for any human action. Reducing complex sociopolitical struggles to a matter of “hate” is as simplistic as blaming it on “sin,” but they fall for it.

And boy are they falling for it. The omnipresence of “hate” appears to be the main preoccupation of the professoriate and the administrative commissars, and is certainly one of the central fixtures of campus life. Trinity College professor Johnny Eric Williams took to his Twitter account to use the hashtag #LetThemFuckingDie in reference to white males; similarly, former Drexel professor George Ciccarillo-Maher opined that, “All I want for Christmas is white genocide.” Texas A&M professor Tommy Curry advocated violence against whites as a corrective measure to perceived racism in a podcast interview back in 2012. Now-terminated Essex County College professor Lisa Durden taunted whites on Tucker Carlson when the host pressed her on her support for racially-exclusionary events:

“Boo-hoo-hoo, you white people are just angry you couldn’t use your white privilege card to get invited to the Black Lives Matter all-black Memorial Day celebration.”

University of Delaware anthropology professor Kathy Dettwyler declared on Facebook that Otto Warmbier “got exactly what he deserved” when he was tortured to death by North Korea because he was “typical of a mind-set of a lot of the young, white, rich, clueless males.” According to Boston University professor Saida Grundy, “White masculinity isn’t a problem for America’s colleges, white masculinity is THE problem for America’s colleges.” John Griffin of the Art Institute of Washington believes that Republicans “should be lined up and shot. That’s not hyperbole.” Fresno State professor Randa Jarrar gloated over the death of Barbara Bush on Twitter (sic):

“Barbara Bush was a generous and smart and amazing racist who, along with her husband, raised a war criminal. I’m happy the witch is dead. Can’t wait for the rest of her family to fall to their demise the way 1.5 million iraqis have. Byyyeeeeeeee.”

Kevin Allred, formerly of Rutgers University, had the following to say on Twitter: “Will the Second Amendment be as cool when I buy a gun and start shooting at random white people or no …?” Another Boston University professor, Kyna Hamill, published a paper condemning “Jingle Bells” for its “racist history” as a jingle in blackface. Sarah Bond of the University of Iowa lamented the fact that sculptures from the classical world are now primarily associated with white marble. Princeton University Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor made the deeply revealing and insightful comments during her commencement address at Hampshire College that Donald Trump is a “racist, sexist megalomaniac.”

As Middlebury, Yale, Evergreen State, and Berkeley have shown, the students are just as eager to get in on the action. Lucía Martínez Valdivia, a mixed-race “queer” assistant professor of English at Reed College, had a lecture about Sappho disrupted by students protesting the college’s mandatory humanities class as “white supremacist.” Just when you think the Left cannot get any more preposterous, there you go—protesting a queer, mixed-race woman’s lecture on a queer female poet. The protesters also indicted Aristotle and Plato for good measure. Martínez Valdivia states:

Nuance and careful reasoning are not the tools of the oppressor, meant to deceive and gaslight and undermine and distract. On the contrary: These tools can help prove what those who use them think — or even what they feel — to be true. They make arguments more, not less, convincing, using objective evidence to make a point rather than relying on the persuasive power of a subjective feeling…Ultimately, this is a call for empathy, for stretching our imaginations to try to inhabit and understand positions that aren’t ours and the points of view of people who aren’t us. A grounding in the study of the humanities can help students encounter ideas with care and…realizing — and accepting — that no person, no text, no class, is without flaws. The things we study are, after all, products of human hands.

She’s absolutely correct, but the un-reasoning Left refuses to consider what is actually a very insightful commentary on the nature of creation so fundamental to the arts, and on the beauty and tragedy of a fatally-flawed humanity. This idea that empathy does not need to be divorced from logic and reason—that it is in fact inextricably intertwined and that rationality and critical thinking aren’t “tools of white supremacy” but are instead universally applicable and vital to processing the world and the people in it in all their dimensionality—is increasingly becoming antithetical to the deeply sentimental worldview of the Left wing, where the Western logos itself has become the enemy of emotive, panicked hysteria masquerading as a coherent set of principles. In this infantile worldview of good-and-bad, “hate,” as the Jim Goad quote discusses, is a sufficient explanation for people’s motivations, and for anything that falls outside the ideological confines of Leftist “thought.”

One thing is clear—dissent will not be tolerated. Will Creeley, an attorney for the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education (FIRE), expresses concern that the:

“U.S. Supreme Court’s stark warning in Sweezy v. New Hampshire will prove prophetic: ‘Teachers and students must always remain free to inquire, to study and to evaluate, to gain new maturity and understanding; otherwise our civilization will stagnate and die.’”

Though he is dead wrong about group identity and has of late turned into a bit of a Zionist shill, Dr. Jordan Peterson is a very astute observer of the Cultural Marxism that has taken firm hold of the university campuses in North America and beyond. Peterson refers to the Leftist buzzwords of “diversity,” “equity,” and “inclusivity” as the Unholy Trinity, and I might be so presumptuous as to add a fourth: trauma. This is the lynchpin of the push for safe spaces, the conflation of speech with violence, and the drive to dis-invite and de-platform speakers who run afoul of the egalitarians. Nevertheless, these poisonous ideas have seeped deep into the fabric of academia, where they are not only perpetuated and remain unchallenged, but spread into our society’s daily discourse as a direct result of sustained attempts at indoctrination in the academy, and increasingly even earlier in K-12.

The reason things seem to be deteriorating on campus has everything to do with its closed environment, where dissenting opinions are discouraged and forced out, and mutually reinforcing viewpoints are encouraged and advanced. Essentially you then have an echo chamber environment where bad or at least faulty ideas are perpetuated and due to viewpoint uniformity (and hostility to different perspectives) the ideas and suppositions advanced in the academy are never challenged, and in the rare instances where dissenting evidence emerges from the university setting (such as Dr. Richard Lynn’s IQ research), the data is suppressed and the individual responsible is punished or marginalized in some way. Political orientation is a pretty good proxy for worldview; for all of the talk of diversity, in this crucial area it is sorely lacking. From a 2016 survey, we see that liberal professors in New England outnumber conservatives 28-to-1. From a study conducted by UCLA published in 2012, we can see the growing uniformity among the professoriate nation-wide is approaching a totality of the profession:

CHART

By 2014, a mere 10% of professors identified as conservative. They remain largely confined to business and the hard sciences. In a sample of fifty-one of the top sixty liberal arts colleges studied by the National Association of Scholars’ Mitchell Langbert this year, 39% of faculties had zero Republicans, and out of a pool of nearly 8,700 professors, registered Democrats outnumbered registered Republicans ten-to-one.

As uniform in their beliefs as professors generally are, John Wilson, an editor of the AAUP’s “Academe” blog, believes that it is the administrators who are really the problem as the architects and enforcers of the censorship and speech codes that are so prevalent on college campuses. As one example of the blood-engorged ticks that are collegiate bureaucracies/administrations, the University of Michigan has ninety-three full-time diversity and equity staff, twenty-six of whom earn six figures, while nationally 49% of college classes are taught by adjunct (part-time) professors with no semester-to-semester guarantee of classes and no benefits (to their credit Ann Arbor only has 17% of its classes taught by adjuncts). Jon Marcus from the New England Center for Investigative Reporting illuminates:

The number of non-academic administrative and professional employees at U.S. colleges and universities has more than doubled in the last 25 years, vastly outpacing the growth in the number of students or faculty, according to an analysis of federal figures. The disproportionate increase in the number of university staffers who neither teach nor conduct research has continued unabated in more recent years. From 1987 until 2011-12…universities and colleges collectively added 517,636 administrators and professional employees, or an average of 87 every working day, according to the analysis of federal figures…“There’s just a mind-boggling amount of money per student that’s being spent on administration,” said Andrew Gillen, a senior researcher at the institutes. “It raises a question of priorities.” Universities have added these administrators and professional employees even as they’ve substantially shifted classroom teaching duties from full-time faculty to less-expensive part-time adjunct faculty and teaching assistants…Since 1987, universities have also started or expanded departments devoted to marketing, diversity, disability, sustainability, security, environmental health, recruiting, technology, and fundraising, and added new majors and graduate and athletics programs, satellite campuses, and conference centers… “It’s almost Orwellian,” said [economist Richard] Vedder. “They’ll say, ‘We’ll save money if we centralize.’ Then they hire a provost or associate provost or an assistant business manager in charge of shared services, and then that person hires an assistant, and you end up with more people than you started with.”

All of this should rightly beg the question of what purpose all of this administrative bloat serves. It certainly isn’t to benefit the quality of the education students receive, and it only adds to the onerous costs of attaining a college degree. The aforementioned AAUP is responsible for the 1915 document that still stands as the golden standard of the mission statement of what a university’s actual purpose should be:

To promote inquiry and advance the sum of human knowledge;

To provide general instruction to the students; and

To develop experts for various branches of the public service.

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Nowhere is there an imperative to produce “professional activists” or advocate for that most nebulous of terms: social justice. Public service in this context is to contribute to society in a productive and meaningful way, be it as an engineer, a rocket scientist, or a teacher. Instead, students learn the wonders of communism (according to a 2017 survey, 44% of Millennials surveyed preferred to live under a socialist system), whites learn to hate themselves, and everyone else learns to hate them. A recent event at The College of William & Mary sponsored by the ACLU entitled “Students and the First Amendment” was shut down due to Black Lives Matter protesters, who exercised the “heckler’s veto” and asserted, among the usual tripe, that “Liberalism is White Supremacy.” Where else can you go from there? What common ground can there be when the Left is saying its own professed values of pluralism and tolerance are white supremacy?

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine https://ift.tt/2KzaJOd via IFTTT

[jorgedarcy08-blog]

Lemuria Recreational Hate.

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